Signed, Sealed, Delivered
by audreyslove
Summary: Regina and Robin have been separated for over a year, and are in the process of getting a divorce. They decide to spend Christmas together for the sake of their friends, family, and most importantly, their son, Roland. Christmas magic ensues.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Part of the OQ Advent Calendar. A bit of an emotional rollercoaster. Thanks for everyone who encouraged me through this process including Hollie, Jen, Hannah, Brooke, Carissa (who titled this fic for me) and especially Bea, who beta-ed this like a champ and was there to help me through the writer crazies. I am so lucky to have you all as friends. Merry Christmas to all you OQers out there. May your holiday season be bright and full of cheer, and may this year be kinder to us than the last. :)**

* * *

"Regina, we're begging you to at least consider it." Mary Margaret's hand grips the mug of coffee (no, _tea,_ she ordered _tea_ at a coffee stop), her other hand nervously tapping on the veneer of the table.

Emma's knee is bobbing, she can see it from the other side of the table the way it shakes, almost vibrating with the discomfort of the moment. Her mouth is tense and tight, her eyes wandering the room, feigning interest in the holiday decorations that adorn the coffee shop, looking everywhere but at Regina.

Coward.

Regina should have known this coffee date would turn into an ambush. After all, Mary Margaret and Emma are her friends but they are also Robin's sisters (Mary Margaret is only a half sister, but she's a sister nonetheless). Sometimes Regina thinks her and Robin's separation and pending divorce is harder on them than it is on her.

She should have known better than to fall in love with her best friend's brother. It's wonderful in many ways, for your best friend to _literally_ become family, but she lost the ability to complain and bitch about her love life with Emma the day her love life included Robin.

"After Thanksgiving, I cannot believe you two are asking this of me," Regina muttered, picking up her coffee and taking a sip in one brisk action. The coffee is hot, too hot, and she's sipped too much, but she refuses to wince as the steaming liquid scorches her tongue and throat.

She's good at concealing pain, after all.

"He was a mess then, and he's assured me it won't happen again. I won't let him touch a drop of alcohol. Not even rum cake!" Mary Margaret is frantic now, desperately trying to make this sound less like the miserable idea it actually is. "You love Christmas with us. And Roland wants to spend Christmas with Henry so badly, he's asked us all."

"It's a tradition, Regina," Emma says nearly above a whisper, "it's one we want to keep."

Emma looks uncomfortable with this setup (it had to be Mary Margaret's idea), but it's clear that she wants this, too.

"So why can't we spend Christmas together without Robin? Why can't he just have Christmas with his dad?" She asks pointedly at Mary Margaret, "I assume Ava doesn't want Robert around, and I'm sure that side of the family has a grand old time."

"Let's leave our dad out of it." Emma looks up from her cup of coffee, angrily, "You know how Robin and I feel about him."

"Well from what I can gather, Robin is now turning into him, and…"

"Regina!" Mary Margaret admonishes, "I get it. He had too much to drink on Thanksgiving. But that does _not_ make him Robert. It was one day. And it was a hard day. A hard day for you both."

"And yet I managed to have a perfectly wonderful meal with Emma and Neal without swallowing a fifth of whiskey." Regina is quick to remind.

The pain of that day is still there, and it hurts. Sometimes people forget she hurts, too. She's resilient, guarded, and private. But that day, to those who knew her, she was a mess of emotions. It was the anniversary of the death of her marriage.

Robin had begged to have Roland for the holiday dinner. Regina offered the day up easily, texting him that he could have Thanksgiving and the Friday afterwards in exchange for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Robin wouldn't agree to the deal, of course, and they were at a bit of a standstill until Emma had mentioned the idea of splitting Roland.

" _We're going to celebrate with Neal's family. You're welcome, Regina. And they eat early. Like, 2 PM? We can have a Thanksgiving meal, Henry and Roland will have time together, and...well, you know Neal's father loves you. And then just drop off Roland at Mary Margaret and David's, and boom! Henry gets double the Thanksgiving fun and won't miss out on anything. It's simple, and easy. What do you think?"_

It seemed like a great solution to this whole mess.

But of course, when the day came, Regina was a wreck, because dropping Roland off meant she would have to see Robin for the first time in forever. It should not have been that way, not for them. They were best friends turned lovers, and in ten years prior to this separation they had barely gone more than a day without at least hearing each other's voice

Regina was the first to withdraw. After Thanksgiving, her stubbornness kicked in, and she shut him out completely. Refused to speak to him about anything besides Roland, refused to even hear his attempts to reconcile. And then, on Christmas Eve, there was a simple text from Robin, telling her that he knew she didn't want to hear from him, but he would always love her. She had misinterpreted, thought he meant that he still loves her _that way,_ and drove back from her mother's, intent on choking on her pride and begging him to come home to her.

But by the time she'd come back, by the time she'd tried to get _him_ back, it was too late. He had already moved on, into the arms of his ex-girlfriend. The image of him and Marian will probably burn fresh and painfully in her mind forever.

From that moment, she shut down any hope of reuniting and focused on trying to get over him. And she figured if she spent enough time away from him, that would happen. Eventually.

So she set her best efforts in seeing him as little as possible. Sure, they shared custody of Roland. But they have a system, and it involves dropping him off at daycare on the day of the week they are set to make the exchange, while the other picks him up and takes him home for the remainder of the week, until the next exchange. Thanksgiving was the first time they would see each other, since the week Mrs. Lucas went on vacation and shut down the daycare, leaving them without their usual routine.

When they lost daycare, they split the responsibility of Roland 50/50 and suddenly, after months of avoiding one another, they had to see each other on a daily basis, breathe the same air, stare into each other's eyes…it was, difficult. She's never been good at setting boundaries with Robin, she's weak for him, and all that time away had done nothing to change that. That week they ended up becoming much too flirty for her own taste. Before she knew it they were sharing dinners every night, and even spent all of the Fourth of July together. They didn't talk about anything too serious, not in front of Roland, of course. But it had been wonderful, having him for that brief time. But it was over when Roland's daycare opened back up and she was alone again. All that week had left her with was a deep hole in her heart, and time spent thinking too much about him, reopening wounds and making her long to relive a chapter in her life she knew was closed.

After that, she told herself she would not fall under Robin's spell again. So she drew back as far as she could, stopped taking phone calls and continued to talk in texts and emails. Robin pushed a little, at first. But she shot down every attempt to meet and talk, with one excuse or another, and Robin had eventually relented. This was the new normal.

She had been dreading Thanksgiving for quite some time, considering that _last year's_ Thanksgiving had been the worst day of her life. Where a familiar argument took a wrong turn and words were spoken that could never be taken back, screams and cries and demands and ultimatums put them at a standstill, and then Robin slammed a door to their home that he never opened again. At least, not in that way.

So she had dreaded Thanksgiving, yes, but she would be lying if the prospect of seeing Robin after months had not excited her just a bit. He wasn't just her soon-to-be-ex-husband, after all. For the last ten years he had been her _person,_ her best friend, the one she trusted the most, and of course there was this unparalleled chemistry they shared, the passion they had was unlike anything she'd ever experienced in her life.

So as much as she knew better, as much as she knew she was opening herself to heartache all over again, she'd found herself fretting over the perfect Thanksgiving outfit, spending a bit longer on her makeup...wondering if he would look at her the way he used to...despite the fact that he had moved on, she knew he had. Still, she hoped for something that couldn't be, and it was ridiculous, wasn't it?

She found out how ridiculous it was when she got to Mary Margaret's house to drop off Roland.

 _Regina decides to ring the doorbell. For as long as Mary Margaret and David have owned this house, there's been an open door policy. She even has her own key. But this is not the holiday party she was designated to attend, and she suddenly feels like an uninvited guest._

 _Roland is squirming in her arms, so she sets him down before ringing the bell._

" _Aunt Mary! Uncle David! We are here!" Roland is banging on the front door jumping with excitement. He can't wait to see the rest of his family._

 _Mary Margaret opens the door, looking frazzled and flushed. Roland jumps into her arms, hugging her tightly._

" _Regina!" she exclaims, "I.. is it 6:30 already?" She turns around facing the inside of her house and shouts an anxious "Regina is here, everyone! With Roland!"_

" _I may be a tad early," Regina gives, checking her phone. Thirty-two minutes early, to be exact. "Honestly, I love Neal but I can only take so much of Randolph Gold. So I thought I'd just drop Roland off with Robin, and give him a few things I'd like Roland to have at his place…"_

 _But Mary Margaret is still standing in the doorway, swaying Roland back and forth, blocking her way inside._

" _I can take whatever you want to Robin!" She offers a bit too excitedly, and there's this forced, ridiculous smile on her face._

 _And suddenly Regina feels less like an uninvited guest and more like a downright intruder._

" _I'm... he doesn't even want me to step foot inside?" Regina asks incredulously. The prideful part of her had thought Robin trusted her more than this, had at least cared for her as the mother of his child to treat her better than this. But now, was he so disgusted he did not think they could be in the same room together? Her heart throbs and twists, but she clenches her teeth together right and wills the pain to stop before emotion spills over and lends to tears. Not now._

" _Oh god, Regina, no! It's not that, not that at all! It's just we hadn't expected you_ quite yet _and—"_

 _It's just then that she spots Marian walking behind Mary Margaret. She sees the poor girl's terrified expression and it all makes sense._

 _They don't know that Regina is already aware that Robin is back together with Marian. She already saw Robin and Marian together, spending a romantic evening together on New Year's Eve. She already saw the kiss they shared, so soft, so sweet, with just the right amount of heat…._

 _Ten years with her and it hadn't even taken him ten weeks to move on._

 _She had waited for someone to break the news that he had moved on with his ex-girlfriend. First, she waited for Robin to say something, send her a text or an email or a head's up that her son would be spending time with a new woman...but he was too cowardly to tell her. She thought Emma would tell her as soon as she found out, out of loyalty, or Mary Margaret, because she can't keep a secret or hell, David was a decent man, he would tell her because it was the right thing to do._

 _Instead, no one had told her. And so now, here they are, being domestic. Sharing a Thanksgiving meal. Probably burying old memories of devastating Thanksgivings past and moving on to greener pastures. Effectively having a picnic over the gravestone of their marriage. Classy._

 _And of course Mary Margaret doesn't want her to see this, because her so-called friends are still, pathetically, keeping the relationship a secret. They probably thought it would break her into a million pieces, as if she were some china doll they had to handle with kid gloves._

" _Oh, for god's sake," Regina groans, pushing Mary Margaret aside and walking into the house. She would show them, show everyone that she was_ not _weak, that she could handle her husband and his new love without batting an eye._

 _Roland's overnight bag is across her shoulder, and she's intent to just walk over to Robin and explain what Roland has had to eat, warn him about a rash he seemed to develop, tell him his nap schedule for the day, and give Robin a new toy that has mesmerized him for the last week. That's it. Then she would be off. She'd smile at Marian and tell her it was lovely to see her again, and tell her to be careful with her son's heart while she was off playing family with her husband. Well, she'd word it nicer than that. But if this woman was now spending time with her son, she'd like to have a chat._

 _But when she enters the living room in search of Robin, she only finds David and John there, watching television. The mood in the room doesn't feel like the festive celebratory holiday that is Mary Margaret's signature. It's...somber. Weighted._

 _Something happened._

" _Regina!" David gets up, immediately, rushing towards her. "Thanks for bringing Roland, do you want me to get that bag for you? Would you like anything to eat—"_

" _Where is he? I am not going to cause a scene, I just have to talk to him about Roland's schedule."_

 _David's face falls, but he says nothing. Her eyebrows raise and she shifts her glare to John. John is a good friend of Robin's, but also a good friend to Regina. He has loyalties to both of them, and from the guilt in his eyes, he's feeling pulled in two directions._

" _Back porch," John resigns with a sigh._

 _Regina frowns. Robin's probably sitting around their firepit, snuggling and making s'mores with his new lady. She probably just popped back inside to powder her nose, and god, stay strong woman! Don't let them see your pain._

 _She turns towards the kitchen, where sliding glass doors lead to the porch._

" _Regina, wait!" David calls, "I can explain, it's —"_

" _I already know, David," she says as coolly as she can, "and I don't care."_

 _But what she sees on the porch surprises her. There's a small fire, sure. But there's also two bottles of whiskey. One is empty, the other about half-empty. The first thing she hears is the clink of the shot glasses. And then, she watches her husband, her son's father, down a shot like a frat guy, and attempt to pour everyone another round._

 _He's sloppy and uncoordinated, spilling every which way, giggling like an idiot, and for fuck's sake, how in the hell did he think he was supposed to care for his son in this state?_

 _She is just going to take Roland and go home. From the looks of Robin, he won't even remember whether they showed up at all. And, honestly, if this is how he intends to spend quality time with their son, she's not sure about this split custody arrangement anyway._

 _She's almost inside when Robin finally notices her. "Regina!" he calls (a chorus of Oh shit!'s_ _are heard from the peanut gallery before Killian and Will go silent, at least having the decency to look ashamed). And then Robin rises from his seat too quickly, trips and nearly falls on his face. He catches himself, hands falling to brace on porch floor and standing back up in record time. It earns a snicker from Will and Killian, and makes Regina's blood rush cold, and then hot with anger._

" _I don't want to hear it," she says, holding a hand up to shield herself from looking at him. He's a mess, a drunken slob, but he still has those beautiful blue eyes, he's still gorgeous and he's still her husband and despite everything, she misses him terribly. And, frankly, Roland definitely learned that puppy dog look from his father. She won't let him convince her she should hear him out, because she won't let herself look at him._

" _Please, Regina!" He steps quickly in between her body and her path inside._

" _Where's….where's Roland? Is he okay?"_

" _Luckily Mary Margaret has him. So I won't have to explain to_ our son _why his father smells funny and can't stand on his own two legs. I'm taking him home."_

" _No, no, Regina I'm fine!" he straightens his posture, shuts his eyes, and then opens, attempting to do his best sober impression. "I promise, I'm fine. We got a bit carried away, but I'm far from sloshed. It'll be fine."_

" _And who is going to drive him to your place, Robin? You're in no state to drive."_

 _She waits for him to mention Marian. Just waits. But instead he stares back at her, eyes wide, swallowing heavy. "I — "_

" _I can do it," Killian offers, standing up "I haven't had too much."_

 _Regina rolls her eyes at the way Killian sways on his feet. "Please. You're worse than him."_

" _So who will take care of our son and you when this dinner is over, Robin?" she asks again, eyes burrowing into his, daring him to tell her now._

" _I can take care of us myself. And I'll take an uber home," he mutters._

" _An uber with a carseat?" Regina snaps. Car seat bases aren't easy to install, it's not as simple as putting one in a cab or an uber and getting him home. But of course that won't be an issue because Robin's gorgeous ex-girlfriend-slash-new-girlfriend is going to be driving his car, isn't she? And then Marian will tuck Regina's son in for the night, sing him a lullaby, and have wild, drunken sex with Regina's husband. And the thought, it's just...it's too much._

" _You can stay with us for the night," David interjects. He's just appeared behind Robin, standing in the house, blocking the cold air that is rushing into the kitchen now because Robin won't let Regina just leave. "They both can, Regina."_

 _Her heart pounds, as she wonders who_ both of them _refers to. Marian and Robin? Or Robin and Roland? Will they stay in the guest room she used to share with Robin?_

 _This is terrible._

" _I split this holiday with Robin so my son could spend time with both of his parents and have some semblance of normalcy. Not so his pathetic father could pawn his responsibilities off on his family," she spits, looking at Robin with all the disgust she can muster. "Sorry, if he's not up to the task and wants to have a good time drinking with his_ mates _, that's fine. I happen to love spending time with Roland and I don't need you to babysit him while his relives his college years."_

" _That's not what he was doing, love." Killian calls out, "truly, if you'd just take a minute —"_

" _You two are supposed to be his friends," she chastises, brow furrowed, blood coloring her face bright red, "how could you let him get into this state when you know he had to see his son tonight?"_

 _They have the decency to look ashamed, and for Regina, that's enough._

" _Text me when your bender is over," Regina bites at Robin, "or at least, let me know when you finally decide to be a decent human being again and treat Roland and me with anything resembling respect."_

 _She pushes him aside and makes a move towards the door. David, for all his attempts to defend Robin, merely moves aside to give her room to walk past. This Thanksgiving, the only thing she's thankful for is Roland and David._

" _Regina, god I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, please stay, just for a moment, I need to talk to you!"_

 _Robin's on his knees now, wrapping arms around her legs and pleading. She thinks she hears what could be the sound of choked sobs into her leg. It's almost enough to break her out of her anger, almost enough to have her fingers run through his hair and soothe him. To tell him she's angry now but they will talk this out in the morning. But then she looks up and sees David looking at her with such pity, and turns to find a befuddled Killian and Will staring at them. She's suddenly just so angry at this dramatic display. He's caused a scene. He's gotten down on his knees and begged her, and it invokes the old taunts of his friends, when they called her Your Majesty, poking fun at all her specific requests and preferences. And suddenly, she hates him._

" _Get off me, Robin!" She shakes at him, but he won't budge. And she's not strong enough to push him off, so maybe she can knock him back with words. Her voice goes stern when she adds, "Robin. You're a drunken mess. I don't want you in my life any more than you need to be, and you certainly do not need to be clinging to me right now." She tugs at his arms, but Robin won't move them, only wraps his arms around her tighter muttering_ You don't mean that, just stay here for a bit, just give us a moment, I need to talk to you _. She sighs, a frustrated, deep, throaty thing, and then looks up to David, wordlessly asking for his help._

" _Come on, now," David says, softly, grabbing Robin's wrapped arms and tugging gently. "Off her, man. It's not good, none of this is doing any good. Let's just get you some coffee and work on this in the morning."_

" _I want my family!" Robin cries, "I want to see my son!"_

 _Regina lets out a puff of air and rolls her eyes, "Well tonight, my guess is you're already seeing double so you'd get to see two Rolands. And both of them would be just as disappointed and disgusted by you as I am right now."_

" _Regina," David warns, and he's right, she's gone too far. But she's too upset to think straight right now._

" _Don't start with me David," she mutters, wiggling and moving out of Robin's hold and walking through the sliding door. Robin follows her, much to her disgust. She hears his deep inhale and exhale behind her._

" _Regina, look at me, just for one moment," his voice is calmer now, softer, "I'm not that bad off, I swear. I just...I got emotional…"_

" _Save it for someone who cares," Regina grumbles, waving her hand at him, "I don't have time to talk about your precious feelings. Did you ever consider mine?"_

" _Always." His voice is firm, stern, and that's what draws her to finally look him in the eyes. And he looks... pained. Serious. Mind-numbingly sincere. And admittedly, not as drunk as she had thought._

" _You're such a beautiful liar," she breathes, stunned by how he has contorted his face in such a way that makes her believe he actually cares, that he actually cares about HER. But he doesn't, he's moved on. It's only about their son now._

 _The words she speaks stun him into silence, and she takes that as an opportunity to end the conversation._

" _Who has my son?" she asks into the air, waiting for anyone in the room who is just standing, watching the spectacle to answer._

" _Mary Margaret and John are playing with him in the den," David directs, pointing her down the corridor. And, bless the man, he puts a hand on her back and walks her there. The contact is soothing, eases a bit of her nerves, drains a bit of that pent-up, angered energy she needs to release before she sees Roland. "He's asking for his daddy, though. They are trying to distract him. Are you sure you can't stay for a bit if you must take Roland home? It's a bit of a college reunion. Marian, Elsa, Anna and Ana are here…"_

" _Yes, I see them," Regina groans, hating the fact they have all borne witness to the scene Robin has just caused. "But no. Thank you David, but I don't think I can stay. And can you blame me?"_

" _No," he admits, "and look, there's not really an excuse, but there is an explanation, and one I think you should hear from Robin."_

 _All she can think of is the explanation of_ Marian _and she doesn't want to hear that, not one bit._

" _I'm not interested. Thanks for your help, David."_

 _She kisses him on the cheek, and he hugs her tightly, telling her to take care._

 _And then she pries Roland away from his Aunt and Uncle with only a few tears, and an explanation that his daddy is sick, but they will call him before bedtime, and call him the next day._

 _And they do. She calls David first (usually she'd call Mary Margaret, but the woman tried to hide the state that Robin was in, tried to get her to drop off Roland when his father was piss ass drunk, and she's furious with her right now). She asks if Robin is "well enough" to speak on the phone to his son. And David assures that he is, and puts Robin on the phone. She passes it to Roland._

 _Roland's just two months shy of four years old, but he prattles on about his day with Henry after wishing that his daddy's non-existent illness will go away soon, so they can play._

" _Daddy wants to talk to you, mommy!" Roland says, offering the phone back to her. ._

" _Robin?" she answers._

" _Regina, I really need to talk to you just to explain and apologize— " the voice from the phone begs._

" _Oh no, you're feeling ill?" she asks, for the benefit of her toddler audience, "I'm so sorry, of course we'll talk later. Goodnight, Robin."_

" _No, Regina — "_

That phone call, weeks ago, was the last time she had heard his voice. So no, she's not excited to see him again.

"I'm sorry, Mary Margaret, I don't think he has a right to complain after what he did. If Robin is going to come to your Christmas party, that's your right. I'll take Roland to my mother's. She and my stepfather will spoil him rotten."

"He hates it there," Emma points out. It's a bit bold to say that a soon-to-be-four year old _hates_ anything besides baths and green vegetables, but she has a point, because, "and you hate it there too, Regina. It's Christmas. Spend it with your real family."

"I can't," she snaps, "because my so called _real family_ has decided to stand by the guy who can't get through a holiday without celebrating like a frat boy at his first party."

"Regina, Robin was anything but celebrating," Mary Margaret defends, "he was a mess the whole night. He broke down before dinner even started. He was sober then, too, and you know he doesn't cry often, but…"

"He was _crying?"_ She winces, and at that moment, a flash of throwing her arms around Robin and taking his pain away goes through in her mind. She hates it, how she always feels this need, this overwhelming desire to comfort him, to be there for him. When will those feelings end? After the way he treated her, he deserves nothing.

She's shown a chink in her armor, and Mary Margaret has picked up on it, so she quickly explains, "He was caught up thinking about the last Thanksgiving. He couldn't even eat. He told us his life was over."

"And what did Marian think of that?" Regina asks, eyebrows raised.

Emma and Mary Margaret both look perplexed at the question.

"She is going through a tough breakup of her own," Mary Margaret says, brow furrowed, "so she understands a bit of his pain. They understand each other. Why did you ask about her?"

Are they dense? When will they just acknowledge their relationship?

"Sorry, he didn't look so miserable when I came to drop Roland off," Regina reminds, "he was having a great time with the boys, laughing and drinking shots."

"That's because Killian is an idiot," Emma groans, "He told me the whole story. He's a god damned asshole."

"You still talk to Killian?" Regina spits back. What was it with these people and their exes?

"He's friends with David. And Neal," Emma reminds. "So I asked him what happened with Robin and he told me Robin was feeling sad, and was being a bit, as he said it, 'whiny and womanly' so he decided the cure was a bit of alcohol to dull the emotions. David and John told them they couldn't get him drunk, because Roland was going to be there, but Killian smuggled some whiskey out there and they told funny stories and tried to keep him from wallowing in sadness. I think, truly, Killian and Will's hearts were in the right place. They are just childless idiots with no idea what they were doing."

Regina's heart clenches a bit to hear that Robin had felt just as miserable as she did that day. And for a second, she almost relents. But then she remembers Marian, the lies, the cover-up, the sound of his laughter when she first saw him that day on Thanksgiving. And no, she can't forgive or forget quite so easily.

"Sorry, if you think I'll be okay in the same room with him after that —"

"You're going to have to be in the same room with him a lot," Mary Margaret points out, "there will be school plays, and soccer games, there will be award shows, and contests. You share a son. I know it's fresh, and it's only been a few weeks since this happened. But you have to face him some day. So we're just asking you, please. Please just get it over with now. And there will be a sufficient buffer. It's a larger party this time."

"Oh?" Regina asks, eyebrow raises precariously.

"I just invited everyone who is in town. Marian is probably going to be there, and you know, Elsa and Anna just lost their parents in that accident. They don't want to do Christmas with extended family. I want them with us. Will and Ana are going to spend Christmas with Ana's family, but Killian will be staying this time instead of going back to Ireland. See? Lots of distractions."

It's the casual mention of Marian that annoys her more than anything. But suddenly, she wants Robin to know how she has felt for so long.

"Is it alright if I invite Graham?" She asks coolly.

"Graham? I didn't know you two were in touch still." Mary Margaret's brow furrows and she looks... surprised.

"We... reconnected. Recently." It was true, they did run into each other on the metro, and they did have a nice little chat and exchange numbers. But that was where the reconnection ended. But did Mary Margaret need to know that?

Mary Margaret's face is screwed in shock, her mouth open so wide that Regina has a mind to reach across the table and close it for her.

"Like, invite him as a... date?"

"Well, you remember his parents are Jehovah's Witnesses," she starts, "He's not in that religion anymore, and I'm sure he'd enjoy being able to actually experience a party for once, wouldn't you? And if we're inviting everyone with a sob story…"

"No, of course, of course Graham can come. But, I'm sorry, I just want to clarify, are you dating?"

"I wouldn't call it 'dating'," Regina replies with a sly smile. And, her intentional innuendo aside, she's being quite truthful. It's not dating. She adds, "We aren't like that, no."

Mary Margaret's head tilts, her eyes narrow as she looks Regina over, analyzing her. This expression, this posture, it reminds her so much of a little bird, and that's a fitting image, as Regina assumes she is about to start chirping about god knows what any moment now.

"Graham is welcome," Emma says quickly, elbowing Mary Margaret, "you can invite anyone you want, as long as you are there to celebrate with us. Isn't that right, Mary Margaret?"

And Mary Margaret snaps herself out of whatever she must have been stewing about, and forces a smile on her face. "Yes, yes of course, Regina! I'm just happy you'll be there."

So the plans are set. And when she comes home, she has to call Graham and ask him perhaps the biggest favor she will ever ask a near stranger. To ask that he be at her side for the Christmas party so she looks less pathetic in front of her soon-to-be-ex-husband and the new family he's building for himself. But she's surprised when he agrees to go before she even has to ask for his support.

"I've got nothing planned for Christmas," Graham remarks, "so why not? And it's been a long time since I've gotten together with the gang. Might be nice to see them all again."

"There's something else," Regina confesses, "Just so it's not awkward, you should know Robin and I are not together. We are about to get a divorce, actually. We're keeping it civil, but I don't think you heard the news?"

There's no response from his end. Just silence.

"Oh," he finally replies. "Well, I get that it may be difficult to spend Christmas with Robin and his family." Regina rolls her eyes. It's times like these that she hates, _hates_ that her best friends are Robin's sisters. But she met Emma _first,_ god damn it, Emma was the best friend she ever had _first,_ before she met and fell in love with her brother, and begrudgingly learned to love her sister. And where did that land her? In the process of divorce with friends who will probably soon abandon her even though they swear they never will.

They make plans to meet one another at Mary Margaret's, and he thanks her for inviting him and tells her again how excited he is to see them all. She feels a twinge of dread at the thought of Christmas, and hell, that's a kick in the gut, a new wonderful holiday ruined by this caustic separation.

A part of her sometimes wishes life had been different, that she didn't agree to date Robin, and didn't subject herself to the horrifying pain and loss of trust that she'd undergone over the past year. But their son is perfect in every way, and, if she's being honest, Thanksgiving incident aside, Robin is a wonderful father. So the pain is worth it, the aching, gnawing heartbreak she'll live with for god knows how long. Without that pain, she wouldn't have Roland.

But sometimes, she wonders if she will ever get any better.

.::.

She's not surprised when she gets the call from Drake & King, requesting to schedule a quick half hour conference with her attorney, Mallory Drake. It has been over a year since she last slept under the same roof as her husband, and now she is legally able to file for an absolute divorce. Had she lived in a civilized state, Mallory Drake had told her, this ludicrous requirement would not be on her. But it is, and for that reason she's spent the last year in limbo, unable to stop thinking of Robin as her husband, unable to move on.

"Regina! Nice to see you again." Mal's tone is warm and sweet, not the threatening and aggressive voice she hears from her when she's telling her how she will advocate for her case, what pitfalls she should avoid, or what tricks typical men pull in these situations.

Mal is dressed in a beautiful light gray suit that looks expensive, yet warm and comfortable. Her hair is styled in thick, loose curls that are reminiscent of a different, brighter era, and she's carrying a leather journal stuffed with a packet of papers.

"I expected to hear from you right on the twenty-sixth," she says pointedly, "most of my clients cannot wait for this damn one year waiting period to end so they can file. It's rare that I am the one to initiate this meeting."

"Yes, well, I have a toddler. And... the holidays…."

"Of course," she responds but it doesn't sound as though she believes her. "This is the complaint," she says, holding up a stamped document for her to read, "and here's the property settlement agreement and financial statements for child support."

Regina shakes her head. "I told you. We are sharing custody of Roland. I know he makes more than I do, but I don't, I don't need child support."

"That's not the way it works, unfortunately." Mal sighs, "you are going to have to put your pride aside. This is about Roland's best interest. You don't get to say no to more money to give him the life he deserves when he's with you."

Regina opens her mouth to protest, but Mal silences her with a hand in the air, "I'm sure you will make sure he has more than he needs but child support cannot be waived. Judge determines it. This is a requirement."

Regina nods in defeat. God, how awful, to have to ask for anything from _him,_ even if it's just for her son. She hates it.

"Look over the property dissolution sheet just to make sure I've got everything right," Mal says, handing her the papers.

It's a bit humbling, this frank list of all that she shared with Robin, listed there in black and white, once _theirs_ and now assigned to _his_ or _hers_. _401(k). Savings account xxxx-1865._ her eyes scroll down to items such as _hallway armoire_ and _kitchen utensils._

She tears her eyes away. "Looks fine," she says. Who cares about the pots and pans anyway? All she cares about is Roland, and they are splitting time with him, sharing him, and it's awful for both of them.

"He still needs to sign this," Mal notes, "does he have his own attorney yet?"

That's a question, isn't it? If he did, he didn't tell her. And she certainly had not brought the topic up. They would have to actually _talk_ for her to do that, exchange something besides texts about Roland's sleep schedule or daycare woes.

"I don't know…" She says, swallowing hard against the lump of her throat, pushing the painful sting behind her eyes to rest, and willing heroes smile. "We don't really speak anymore. I'm sure that's common amongst divorced couples."

"At this stage? When you have a son and there's no history of abuse or threats? Not really." Mal states at her, head cocked, "Do you still want this divorce, Regina?"

"Of course!" she sounds too defensive to be convincing, so she cringes and adds, "We don't even feel the need to talk to one another, why would we stay married?"

"So you don't talk because you care so very little about one another?" Mal's eyes slit and suddenly Regina feels very much on display. "It's none of my business. But you need to sign this under penalty of perjury. It says you have stayed fully apart for one entire year. That you have not even spent one night under the same roof as one another."

"We truly haven't," Regina says, grabbing the pen next to her.

"And that there is no reasonable chance of reconciliation," Mal continues, staring at her intently. "Do you believe that?"

Regina sighs. She thinks of the time they spent together, the love they shared, millions of moments where she could not picture herself without Robin by her side. She thinks of breakfast in bed, sex on short lunch breaks, surprise weekend getaways and sweet pecks on the cheek every morning before she left for work, she thinks of his strong embrace while she mourned the loss of her father, the hand she held during the birth of their son, his grateful smile when they met their beautiful boy for the first time. But then she thinks of the kiss he gave to Marian, and how little all those beautiful moments meant to him after all.

"I do," Regina says, her voice strong and unwavering. She signs the document with confidence, nodding slightly at Mal.

"If we want this to be a less painful, combative process, I recommend talking to Robin. Make sure he knows this is coming. Let him look over the property settlement agreement and sign it. Give it to his attorney if he has one. I'm giving you a copy. I can have the complaint served on him by private process server if you would like, but it might be more...civil... if you give him the papers yourself."

"I'll give them to him," Regina promises, "no need for a process server."

Mal nods, but she still has the same expression on her face, the one that makes it look like she's about to say something she knows will upset Regina. "Regina you hired me to represent you in a divorce, and that's what I'm going to do. But you've separated for a full year, and you have a son. There one year rule has a lot of awful aspects to it, but the best part for me is that couples tend to be a little less raw and hurt at the time of the proceedings. But that doesn't appear to be the case here. I think you may want to talk to Robin, have a real conversation. If nothing else, for purposes for closure. You have years where you will be in each other's lives, and it works better if you interact like very good friends. But if there are still feelings on both sides —"

"There's not." Regina says firmly, "Robin's moved on."

Mal smiles, and hands her a copy of the paperwork. "Usually the spouse that moves on first is the one to start the divorce process. Robin doesn't appear to even have an attorney and other than a few emails telling you that you can have everything you want, he doesn't appear to be too invested in this divorce. Are you sure he's moved on?"

She is certain, absolutely certain that he has moved on.

They don't speak as to whether _she_ has moved on. Mal's perceptive, after all. Regina has no doubt she knows her client is still in love with her husband.

Pathetic as it may be.

Mal leaves her question unanswered and hanging in the air, murmuring _Something to think about_ before saying her goodbyes and wishing Regina a Merry Christmas.

.::.

Regina is often accused of taking herself far too seriously. Exhibit 1: her wardrobe. It's unlike that of the other moms in Roland's daycare, with their lycra yoga pants and warm cotton tops. Regina is often clad in dry-clean-only attire, silk and wool and cashmere (not practical for the mother of a messy toddler, but she manages). Exhibit 2: her idea of a night out. Even in college, she'd found fraternity parties horribly boring, opting to use her fake ID at whiskey bars and vineyards. Exhibit 3: Holidays. Most of them, anyway. Prior to having Roland, she found Halloween to be a ridiculous holiday, and it was only with pleading that Robin could ever coax her into a costume and into the bar down the street. She likes to think of herself as a bit more refined than the type of woman to dress up as a slutty vampire, or a bottle of ketchup.

But Christmas is the one holiday that can turn Regina into a smiling, excited child. Every year. She just loves Christmas. She loves every aspect of it, the decorations, tasteful and cheap and cheesy, she loves Christmas movies of all sorts, from _It's a Wonderful Life_ to _Elf._ She owns a Santa hat, ugly Christmas sweaters, and more terrible Christmas music than she'd care to mention.

When she and Robin first moved in together, they started the tradition of decorating their home the Friday after Thanksgiving. Last Christmas, of course, everything had gone haywire, leaving her to put up a tree and string a few decorations around somewhere in the middle of December.

But she was determined to make this Christmas a true celebration. This year Roland is nearly four, and there's a good chance he will have memories of this season. So she'd decorated, alone at first, and later with help of Mary Margaret and Emma. She poured every ounce of her heartbreak into this house, and in the end, it looked like a winter wonderland.

Roland has been introduced to Elf on the Shelf this year, and that's been its own distraction from the pain of being alone. Every morning, she finds a new fun way to arrange the elf, and Roland is delighted by the mischief his Elf, ("Dopey", as he named him), had created the night before. Robin has kept up with the tradition at his little apartment too, and they've exchanged text messages and pictures of each night's chaos. It's not much, but it's made the prospect of Christmas with Robin a bit less terrifying, having those small daily interactions where they share a bit of their day with one another, trade compliments, and discuss their son. It's...tolerable.

But on Christmas Eve, she's still a wreck, experiencing every emotion in the book, excitement and dread, hostility and happiness, anticipation and loathing.

She dresses Roland in dark blue corduroys, and finishes the outfit with a white-and-red striped sweater with a bear on it. She opts for a red dress that scoops a bit lower in the front than she usually wears, one that hugs her body and displays every curve. If she's going into battle, she might as well wear her armor, right?

The car has been loaded with presents, carefully hidden under a blanket in the trunk of the car while Roland was at daycare. They will be opening them together, tonight. As a child, Regina never got to experience the joy of opening presents on Christmas Eve. Regina's father's family had a long tradition of opening presents the night before, but her mother had held fast to the Christmas morning tradition. So when she found out that Emma, Mary Margaret, and Robin had been raised with a mother who honored the Swiss tradition of opening gifts on Christmas Eve, Regina had embraced it fully. After all, this was the type of holiday her father had wanted for her.

She feels she almost has a handle on her anxiety by the time she straps Roland into his carseat and starts up the car, when she gets a text from Graham.

 _Sorry, I'm going to be a bit late to the party. Promised I'd help Archie out with the pediatrics wing - we're doing a bit of a holiday party. Mary Margaret says I won't miss dinner. Xx_

She throws her head back and bites her lip to keep from cursing.

It's just a few hours, and who knows, Robin might not even be on time. Maybe she won't have to spend much time with him and Marian before Graham gets there. She isn't going to waste any more time worrying about those two, not when she has a cheery, excited toddler giggling madly about Christmas behind her. So she starts up the car, pops on the Christmas music, and gets going.

.::.

Ava Swan loves all three of her children the same. But Leo White, Mary Margaret's father, comes from money. And thus, there's a bit of a disparity between the lifestyle Mary Margaret is accustomed to and the life that Emma and Robin have lived. When he left Ava, it was per the terms of a prenuptial agreement that left her almost nothing. But there was a trust fund that gave Mary Margaret the world. And Regina believes it must be odd, growing up in a household where your older sister is running off to riding practice while you buy all your baseball equipment second hand. But Emma and Robin have never held it against their sister.

And, during the holidays, Mary Margaret's trust fund and wealth comes to their advantage. She has a huge house on the edge of the city fit for entertaining. It is decorated to the nines on Christmas, lights cover every inch of the shrubbery and trees outside, all set to sparkle and blink in some patterned, coordinated dance that should be overwhelming but somehow... isn't. Now, in the daylight, you can see the giant Christmas wreath from the street, the garland strewn across every window and each candle laid in the middle.

She's a bit early when she lets herself in, arms full of presents stacked precariously against her chest, her son's hand gripping her arm dutifully until the minute the door is opened. Then he's running across the threshold, screaming _Aunt Mary! We are here! Merry Christmas!_

She smiles at his exuberance, takes a moment to wish that she could view Christmas through his eyes this year.

The moment is interrupted when she hears the squeal of her son. _DADDY!_

So he's here already. She takes a moment in the foyer to prepare herself, but then he's there, Roland in one arm, walking towards her, asking if he can help her with the presents in her hand, and yes, yes he can.

He sets Roland down and whispers in his ear that David got a new video game for him, and then Roland is running to find his Uncle David in the family room, and Robin is grabbing a load of presents from her grasp and carrying them to set underneath the tree in the living room.

"He's so excited," Robin says, through a toothy, wide grin, "he's been talking about Santa every night for two weeks now."

"I know," Regina says, as she kneels to set the presents down, finally, "last year he was just a bit too young to really understand, but now? He's completely enchanted by Christmas. It's adorable, Robin."

He's kneeling down next to her, just staring at her, those beautiful blue eyes are wide and almost excited, lips curled back in a genuine smile, and shit, this was a bad idea. He's wearing that blue button down she loves (god damn it, he knows she loves it, doesn't he? Doesn't he remember how she says it brings out his eyes? Doesn't he remember the many times she's practically ravaged him in that shirt?), and he's kept in good shape, he has, he looks damn good, and —

"I know," Robin says, pointing towards his shirt, completely misinterpreting her stare, "not very Christmasy. I have a sweater, in case there are pictures. I just…" His held tilts, and he leans in a bit towards her, "it felt like a blue shirt kinda day."

"I love that shirt," Regina reminds before she can stop herself.

She's almost proud of the blush that rushes to his cheeks.

"I know," Robin admits. "It, uh, reminds me of you."

She suppresses a giggle and manages a "Really?"

He nods enthusiastically, and then asks, "Do you have anything more in the car you need brought in?"

She does, and he takes her keys and tells her to warm herself in the family room while he takes care of things. She nearly kisses him on instinct after thanking him for helping her. Two minutes alone with him and she's already forgetting that they are in the process of getting a divorce and that he's in a relationship with someone else. This is why they can't be alone together.

She walks across the dining room and kitchen, and enters the family room to find David and Roland playing a video game. Mary Margaret is cheering them on. And there's Killian, nursing a rum and coke and avoiding eye contact.

"Where's Marian?" Regina asks, trying to keep her voice as light as possible.

"Marian?" Mary Margaret asks innocently. "Oh, that's right, I told you she was coming. She backed out a while ago. She's spending Christmas with her brother's family."

"Oh," Regina says, trying not to sound too pleased. She shouldn't care, frankly she should be upset she doesn't have the opportunity to speak to the new woman in Robin (and soon, Roland's) life. But for now, for today, she's happy to have her family to herself.

Not that— no, she shouldn't think like that. That's selfish and unfair. They've moved on. And yet—

"You still have your coat on," Mary Margaret points out. And yes, in the mess of seeing Robin and swallowing back a bunch of ill-advised feelings she's left her coat on, "Go take it off, there's a coat rack in the study."

The study is the room just off the foyer, and so Regina's trip to drop off her coat finds her nearly slamming into her husband, who is carrying a stack of presents and a few tupperware containers of food.

"Just a few more things, huh?" he teases, and Regina laughs, helping him with his load, grabbing a few bags out of his hand and walking towards the tree.

"They aren't all for Roland. Henry needs gifts too. And Mary Margaret, David, Emma, Neal…"

"Ahh," Robin says, as he sets down the presents, "I saw one of these gift bags, and I didn't think it was quite appropriate to give our son a bottle of rum, but…"

She rolls her eyes. "For Killian," she says, showing him the label on the gift bag, "I only partially hope he chokes on it."

It's a risky move, revealing that she is still angry at Killian for his part in the Thanksgiving fiasco, but it pays off, and Robin laughs, a hearty, loud guffaw, and it warms her heart to see it.

And then they are locking eyes again, and he's biting his bottom lip, and she's letting her eyes roam over his body unashamed. And they are getting themselves into trouble. The merriment of the festivities is making her forget herself.

"I need to take my coat off before I start to melt," she says, standing up sharply.

But instead of making his way back to the family room, he is saying _Of course_ and following her back to the study.

"Let me," he offers when she starts to remove her coat, and his hands are over buttons and buckles, unwrapping her like a Christmas present, the way he used to.

It makes her legs turn to jello.

He slides her coat off her shoulders smoothly and hangs it on the coat rack, though his eyes never leave her form, looking her up and down as if he wanted to eat her whole.

"You look…" his voice breaks, wavers, and then after a beat, after he lets his eyes wander over her curves unashamed, he adds, "very lovely."

"Thank you," she smiles. A flash of _Marian_ goes through her mind, and maybe it's over? Maybe…

But even if it's over, does it matter? There will be new Marians. The fact that he moved on so fast is a sign that what she had with him wasn't so special. She has to stay strong and avoid falling for his charms.

But then again, it's Christmas, and it's all about indulging in sweet things, isn't it?

She can indulge in him for a bit longer.

His face turns somber, and his hand goes to touch her elbow lightly.

"While I have you alone…" he whispers, "I just need to thank you for this, for letting us share the holiday, so I can see Roland on Christmas. I know you had every reason to say no to this—"

"I'd do anything for Roland," she reminds, because this is not a favor for _him,_ after all. His face falls at that, and her first thought is _Good. Glad it hurts._ But then his misery stabs at her heart and she cannot stop herself from adding "Roland wanted us all together for Christmas. He's a bit young to quite grasp why we can't do these holidays together, especially if his Aunts and Uncles and other family will be there. So that's what he wanted and… he can be _very_ convincing when he really wants something. Like his father." She lifts a hand and presses fingertips to his chest, a light touch for a light tease. It succeeds in lightening the mood a bit, and his lips curve into a smile, but it fades, and a much more serious look replaces that.

"I need to apologize for Thanksgiving," he says. She breaks eye contact, waving a hand out as if it was nothing. But it isn't they both know it isn't, and he won't let her squirm out of this conversation again. He is silent, his eyes searching for hers until she finally relents and looks back at him. "I know I cannot make it right, Regina, but I can promise that will never happen again."

He sounds pained, his voice is shaky and very _un_ -Robin, but it rings sincere, and as mad as she was that day, there's not a drop of anger left. He's a good father. He wouldn't do that on purpose.

"I know it won't," she assures him, grabbing his hand to hold for comfort, "it wasn't like you at all, it just, it scared me a little."

"It was a tough day."

"I know," she acknowledges, "not so great memories of last year."

 _God_ , what did they even fight about that made things so permanent? It started with her renewing the argument that they need to move out of the city to a better school district, which led to an argument about how they both were raised (Regina was raised with prep schools and equestrian training, lived just outside in the city in a large estate, her life was structured, privileged, and homogenized. Robin went to a public school, and was given a lot of freedom to make his own choices, his life was his own, free and untethered to any schedule).

Soon, the argument had reached insulting levels, with Robin calling her spoiled and her childhood unhappy, which led to her calling Robin neglected and his parents idiots, and then the icing on the cake. Robin had said Regina was turning into her mother, that he barely recognized the woman she'd become, and that she would make Roland as miserable as Cora had made her.

Regina had countered that Robin also sounded like his father, and she hoped he never had to worry about him treating Roland the way his father treated him, but she didn't know anymore. And that had shocked Robin into silence. And she'd taken advantage of that silence, because she is her mother's daughter, and when she's hurt, when she's terribly hurt, she goes into attack mode.

That's when she'd said that she didn't know if she even trusted him or loved him anymore. And maybe she would have taken it back, but he had shouted that he was glad they finally agreed on something, because he _knew_ he didn't love her at all anymore.

And that was it.

They had fought before, bitterly. But they had never made it as far as declaring themselves out of love with one another. On Regina's part, it wasn't true. But the moment she heard Robin say those words back, she knew it was over. He was an honorable man. He wouldn't lie about something so serious.

There's no use hoping to reconcile with a husband who doesn't love you anymore. And if she ever doubted that he had truly fallen out of love with her, well, Marian confirmed it, didn't she?

"It wasn't just the memories that made it tough," Robin says, pushing her thoughts back to the present, "it's the first holiday I was without him or _you_ since Christmas, and it was hard seeing families together when ours was so split. I was a wreck. I am so sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," she soothes, the words coming out before she can restrain them, "I should not have ignored you for the last month. I was just...well, I was angry. And hurt."

"I know." The hand she's not holding goes to the small of her back, doesn't push, doesn't try to force her, but it's clear what he wants, what they both want. She eases into a hug.

It's the first time she's been hugged by this man since the Fourth of July, and it's just as electric and warming as it's ever been.

"I was working up the courage to talk to you about this last Thanksgiving and I just...I missed the happy medium between 'liquid courage' and 'sloppy drunk'" he murmurs into her ear, "I know it's long overdue, but I am sorry for what was said then."

"Me too." She's breathing him in, the smell of aftershave and cologne mixing with lotion and his own scent. It's familiar and nice. She loves it, and shouldn't love it as much as she should. This apology changes nothing.

"Merry Christmas, Regina." He whispers into her ear. She returns the greeting.

And they set about to return to join the others in the living room, the awkwardness of being in the same room altogether gone.

.::.

They've been having an amazing time together.

It started when Mary Margaret suggested they all play charades, and Robin and Regina had agreed to be a team, proving their connection is still strong as ever, easily beating even Mary Margaret and David.

Somehow things became... flirty. She's been sipping on eggnog, has a pleasant little buzz going (she's got a standing invitation to spend the night here, after all, and she may take up on that offer. Emma and Neal will spend the night, too, and Henry and Roland could wake up on Christmas morning together, and isn't that perfect?), Robin is making his old jokes, the ones that make her snort and laugh, and Roland is just squealing with delight, so happy to be with Henry. She'd been so comfortable, she hadn't really cared when her knee bumped into his, when his arm grazed her leg, when his fingers began to trace circles around her knee. It just felt too good to put the brakes on any of it.

There's a voice in her head whispering over and over again _What does this mean?_ Because he doesn't love her anymore. He said so, then did a remarkable job proving it over the last year.

But she refuses to listen to her better judgement now, she won't overthink and overdramatize this Christmas. She will just enjoy the way her husband is ogling her — the way his gaze keeps jumping from her eyes to her chest — and save the questions for later. She'll let their hands "accidentally" touch, their fingers "accidentally" scratch up each other's palms, let glances turn to flirtatious stares, biting and licking lips just to thrill the other, and this is incredibly irresponsible and damaging to her heart, but she can't seem to care right now.

Robin leans into her and whispers in a voice that sounds as smooth as well-aged whiskey, "You look gorgeous tonight."

Her insides flip, and she's transported to the time when they'd first started dating, when a couple of well-placed kisses and words would completely dissolve her into putty. It's maybe not the strongest she's ever felt, but it feels wonderful in its own right.

She turns to him and offers him a sly smile and says, "You already said that," and when he raises his eyebrows and laughs, she leans her shoulders in until her body is pressed snug against him and whispers "You're not so bad yourself."

It earns her a blush and a shy smile that makes her go weak.

There's a moment where she thinks it's a shame they can't work off some of this pent up lust against one another. An absolute shame they can't leave Roland while he's preoccupied with his Uncle David and the latest video game, can't just pretend to have "something to discuss" and spend the next ten minutes satisfying each other's cravings. She doesn't even care that he may very well be with Marian, because frankly he seems very interested in _her_ right now, and she's still his wife, isn't she? So Marian doesn't ruin the idea of pushing him up against a wall, spreading her legs for him, and taking him inside her, hard and fast. Nor does Marian sully the painfully enticing memory of his tongue on her clit and his hands wrapped around her thighs.

It's a reckless fantasy, but in her defense it has been a long time since she last had sex, and over the last ten years the man next to her had barely let her go longer than a week without. She was in the longest dry spell of her adult life, and the man that can make her toes curl with a few choice moves is sitting right next to her, drinking her in.

But even if they both felt the same way, even if they agreed it would be just once, to get it out of their system and satisfy a very primal need, that one dalliance would reset the clock and would make them wait another year to have a divorce. So it's a nice passing thought, but not even an option. Not even worth fantasizing about.

So she forces herself up off the couch, squeezing Robin's leg for good measure. He looks up at her in question, and she tells him she's going to help May Margaret in the kitchen. He _pouts,_ actually _pouts_ , when she tells him this, as if it's meant this much, being next to her. She snickers, ands grants herself a moment to let her eyes linger over him yet again, before she finally tears her gaze from his a turns towards the kitchen.

Except when she turns she collides with Graham, and _shit._ She wonders when he even got here, but his body is still cold from being outside, cheeks flushed and red, and she thinks it could not have been so long after all. Not that she would have noticed — she's been entirely distracted.

"Hey, Regina, Merry Christmas!" He wraps himself around her, pulls her into a tight hug, and she takes it, hugs back and anchors herself in him.

"Thanks for coming," she says to him. Thanks indeed. She was a few eggnogs away from propositioning her soon to be ex-husband for a quickie in the pantry.

"Of course, love," he says, loud enough for the room to hear. She blushes.

"Where's Roland?" he asks, looking around the room.

"He and Henry are playing video games upstairs," she explains. "You remember everyone, right?"

"Of course," Graham laughs. After all, it hasn't been _that_ long, "David, I already told Mary Margaret this when she let me in, but thanks for inviting me. And your home is beautiful."

David doesn't look impressed with Graham one bit, but he smiles and shakes his hand.

"I was just going to help with dinner," she explains, and he tells her not to let him keep her, and she's off into the kitchen, glancing back to find Graham helping himself to one of the beers in the ice bucket by the dry bar, looking at home already.

Good.

.::.

"You and Robin have certainly been getting along," Mary Margaret murmurs the very second Regina enters the kitchen.

She hisses angrily at the stupid woman as she peers back to the family room to see if anyone heard, but there's a game on television, and there's Christmas music and laughter, and the steady hum of several conversations to muffle the sounds of Mary Margaret's shrill voice.

"It's been nice," she admits, "I'm glad we can get along. Maybe we can share the holidays, for a while. At least until…"

She drifts off, not wanting to finish the thought. Because Robin is going to remarry and spend Christmas with his new family, and hell, maybe she will remarry, too, and Christmas won't be the same. And she's not ready to think of that right now.

Mary Margaret, however, isn't going to let her off that easy.

"Until it's too late and you've lost him?" The damn woman isn't even looking up from the pot of mashed potatoes, but Regina can hear the self-satisfied smile that must be plastered on her face right now.

Regina rolls her eyes. "Stop being dramatic, Mary Margaret." Regina checks the vegetables roasting in the lower oven. They look almost done. While her face is hidden in the oven, she adds "Besides, I've already lost him."

"No you haven't. Look at the way he looks at you."

The vegetables are done, so she takes them out of the oven and grabs a serving bowl. Her movements are a little quick, a little sharp, a tell-tale sign that she's angry. But she can only conceal so much for so long.

"Mary Margaret…" she says through clenched teeth. "I'm tired of dancing around this topic. He's with Marian, and that's that." The spoon clatters hard against the roasting pan. "I'm _fine._ I did not fall apart hearing about it, like you must have assumed I would. Or is there some other reason you've been trying to hide it from me?"

Mary Margaret is next to her, grabbing the serving spoon out of her hand. "Regina, look at me." She sets the spoon down and grabs her arm. "Robin isn't with Marian."

"Maybe not now, but…"

"No, he hasn't been with anyone since you left him."

The thing about Mary Margaret is she's a terrible liar. And she's lying right now, but from the earnest expression — the pleading eyes, the trembling bottom lip, vibrating with honesty — she doesn't know she's lying.

"I saw them together," she says, shifting her expression to sympathetic, now, because she has to break the news to the princess that her dreams of a reunited family are over.

"Yes, he and Marian spend a lot of time together. She's getting out of an abusive marriage and trying to cope. We've all been spending time with her. And... look," she leans in, grabs Regina's arm and whispers, "don't let him know I told you, but they are in a support group, for… divorce stuff. Okay? But they aren't in a relationship, there's nothing there, I swear."

"I saw them kissing," Regina says frankly.

She watches Mary Margaret's brow knit, her jaw drop, watches as denial turns to anger, and back to denial again.

"No! Regina, you must have seen someone else. They aren't. It must have been someone else! Where did you — when did you?"

"New Years Eve. Right by Killian's apartment, where he was staying... then." Regina shudders as she replays the moment. If he weren't so caught up in Marian he probably would have seen her.

"What were you doing there on New Year's Eve?" Mary Margaret asks, and well, that's a story isn't it?

"It doesn't matter. The point is they _are_ together. And I know how desperately you want us to live happily ever after. But this isn't a fairy tale. Not everyone gets their happy ending."

She ends the conversation abruptly by walking the bowl of vegetables out into the dining room. And though there are no more words spoken, the gravity of what was said remains, weighing heavy in the air between them.

.::.

Years of living with an overly critical mother have left Regina never much looking forward to meals, particularly meals in front of many guests. But Christmas Eve dinner is an exception, usually she loves the idea of sitting around the people she loves most, and sharing an admittedly delicious meal.

This year, is a bit more complicated, of course, with the separation and the few added guests. But Mary Margaret has a large dining room table and appeared to set seating assignments for the occasion. Roland sits between Regina and Robin, across from Henry (Henry and Roland are as close as brothers, gabbing excitedly about Santa Claus and Christmas stories.) Graham seats on the other side of Regina, and she's grateful for the calming energy he exudes, almost as if he can draw out and stomp all the anxiety and stress her conversation with Mary Margaret and… whatever was going on with Robin left her with.

Ava and her new boyfriend show up right before dinner, some new man in her life named George. He seems harmless, but then again, Regina's mother-in-law has a blind spot when it comes to picking men. She looks at Robin, who looks tense and uneasy. His relationship with his mother is strained, in no small part because she allowed him to spend much of his formative years in England with an abusive father, and he's never fully been able to forgive her for that. And so, initially, Regina assumes Robin's icy demeanor is a result of Ava's presence.

"So Graham, how come you aren't spending Christmas Eve with your family this year?" Robin asks, his tone a little clipped.

"They don't celebrate the holidays. Jehovah's Witnesses," Graham explains, "Regina was kind enough to invite me here, and I must say, I'm delighted to be able to actually celebrate something."

He turns, pats Regina on her knee, and gives her one of those dazzling smiles he's so well known for. "Thank you, again."

"It's nothing." She smiles back and gives him a little wink.

"So have you seen Emma since you two broke up?" Robin asks, staring him down.

"Robin!" Mary Margaret and Emma both shoot him dirty looks, and Regina closes her eyes in pain. Damn it, Robin. Bringing up Emma and Graham's short lived romance over a decade ago isn't wonderful dinner conversation.

But Graham is unphased. "We've seen each other around," he answers, "water under the bridge, right?"

"Yeah, definitely," Emma says, but her eyes are focused on Robin, her look stern and angry. "There's no problem here."

"I was just hoping it wouldn't be awkward," Robin explains, "I don't remember you being quite so charitable the last time we discussed Graham."

"That was years ago!" Emma protests.

David awkwardly shifts the conversation to Christmas movies, and everyone joins in the small talk with a feigned enthusiasm to cover up the tense moment.

The rest of the dinner is uneventful, but Robin continues to avoid so much as looking in Regina's direction. When Roland asks if he can spend the night with Henry at Aunt Mary's, Regina asks Robin what he thinks, and he ignores her question, turning to speak to Killian about a home brewing kit.

She thinks she may be reading more into it than there actually is, but when Roland tugs on her arm during dessert and whispers "Is daddy mad at us?" she knows it was as bad as she suspected.

But she assures Roland that his daddy is not mad, he is just tired. Roland of course, can sympathize with being grumpy when tired, so he believes her, eyes widening and whispering "Ooohhhh, did Daddy forget to take a nap?" Regina laughs and musses his hair and nods, holding a finger over closed lips to indicate this is a secret between them. So at least Robin hasn't ruined _Roland's_ Christmas.

But he's ruining hers.

She wants to shake Robin, scream at him, remind him that she only agreed to Christmas Eve so it would _not be_ this, and that she was right all along to not want to do a joined holiday after all. But she can't ruin everyone's Christmas with a fight, no matter how satisfying it would be.

So she bites her tongue and ignores it, turning her attention to Emma, Neal and Graham, shifting in and out of the conversation on the other side of the table to make sure Killian isn't successfully picking up Anna.

But when Roland and Henry ask if they can leave the table early to play, she excuses them quickly, realizing too late that this means there is no longer a pint-sized dimpled barrier between her and the cold front sweeping in from her left. On the upside, she doesn't have to play nice to protect anyone from ill-intended consequences of the storm brewing inside of Robin, either.

And so maybe she leans into Graham just a bit (for spite), and maybe she laughs at his jokes a bit too hard, maybe she lets her hand rub up his leg. It's just as a bit of payback, because if Graham _is_ the reason Robin is acting like a jerk, that's not fair right now, is it? Especially since he has Marian.

So she ignores his huffs and pouts at first, until she spots a worried Emma glancing in Robin's direction. He looks like he's about to blow his top. His face is flushed and streaked with red, his teeth are clenched, jaw is locked, and eyes are staring daggers into hers.

It's one thing to ruin each other's Christmas and an entirely different thing to ruin everyone else's.

When he refuses to even hand his dish to her while she's collecting plates at the end of dinner, she's had enough.

"Robin?"

"Yes?" His response is curt and annoyed, and she resists the urge to scream at him right then and there.

"Can I see you for a second?"

She doesn't wait for his response, just walks away, towards the study, holding her breath until the sound of his chair squeaking against the floor confirms he is honoring her request after all.

"What?" he asks when he asks in the room, looking every bit annoyed.

Regina rolls her eyes. "You know what, Robin."

"Honestly, Regina, I never have any idea what you are thinking anymore. So why don't you enlighten me."

She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. Then she drops her trump card.

"Roland asked me if his daddy was mad at him."

Robin's face falls, and he huffs out a low, long exhale and scratches the back of his head, before his face turns sullen and accusatory.

"Why did he ask that?"

Regina lets out an exasperated sigh and stares him down. "Because you are acting…" how does she word this politely? "distant. And he picks up on these things."

"Did you tell him something to make him think that?" The words stab at her. It's come to this, apparently. He's accusing her of trying to turn their son against him, even though over this past year she's fallen all over her own feelings and pain to make it clear to Roland that his father is a good man.

"Robin, I would never. He's getting older and he can pick up on when his father is grumpy. He just doesn't know why, and children always think they are responsible for their parent's moods."

She sees the guilt wash over his face, hitting him so hard it reverberates off of him and onto her.

"I just told him you were tired," she explains. "He is familiar with being in a bad mood when tired. Everything is okay."

Robin smiles for a brief moment before shaking his head and biting his lip. "I didn't ruin his Christmas?"

"No," she assures, "It'll take a bit more than some curt words and cold shoulders to ruin Christmas for him, he's still having the time of his life."

"Good." He forces a smile, but it's tense, and she can tell the bad mood hasn't gone away. His anger has just been replaced by guilt. That won't do.

"I know there's a lot between us, and I'm not a person you want to be around," she ignores when he protests _That's not exactly it_ and pushes on, "but for Roland's sake can we just… be how we were before dinner? I don't want this hanging over him."

"Mm, like before dinner?" he asks with a chuckle, because okay, they had been flirting shamelessly then and there's no sense pretending otherwise. She doesn't fight or hide the blush that creeps across her face. "I can do that" he promises, "Or at least try. I'm sorry. Even though we aren't together anymore I want to get to the place where it's easier to spend time with you. For Roland, but also for myself. And…" He pauses for what seems like an eternity, exhaling deeply, "It's not a matter of not wanting to be around you. I just don't know how to do it."

"I don't know how to do it, either," she admits with a sigh of relief.

And then they are hugging — she's not sure whether she fell into him or he fell into her, or maybe they fell into each other, but it's warm and comforting and wonderful.

"I wish I knew how to move on. Every time I see you, I just... you're still my wife, you know?" He whispers the words into her ear, his voice a bit shaky.

As comforting as it is to hear he _hasn't_ entirely moved on, it hurts to hear he _wants_ to move on. And she has a solution.

She breaks the hug, and it is misery. She feels every millimeter of his body as it leaves her. But it's too late to beg him to try, it's been over a year and all he wants is to move on.

"Speaking of that," she says, walking towards the coat she hung in the study earlier, "this might help." She reaches into the large hidden pocket of the coat and pulls out a manila envelope.

"What's this?" he asks.

"The paperwork. For our divorce."

He frowns, staring at it, puzzled.

"It's been over a year," she explains, "and I figured... we could put this behind us and maybe start fresh? Maybe it will help with... figuring out boundaries."

"Boundaries." He repeats, his demeanor sullen and empty. Suddenly there's a chill in the air and everything feels awkward and uncomfortable.

"You know, maybe when we aren't husband and wife anymore it will be easier to be friends?" she tries, reaching for his arms. He snaps back from her touch.

"Do you have a pen?" he asks.

"Oh, you should really have your attorney look it over—-"

"I don't have a bloody attorney," he damn near shouts, and he's over at David's desk frantically opening and closing drawers, looking for a pen.

"At least read it over yourself, Robin, before signing, make sure you agree with the way we are choosing to split everything…"

"I don't care what you want, you can have everything."

He finds a pen, snaps it up quickly with some new found resolve, and then he's peeling through the documents, finding places to sign.

"Robin, you really should—"

"We're sharing Roland, the way we always have?" He hasn't looked at her since she handed him the papers, and she completely regrets springing this on him. It's only made things worse.

"Of course," she responds. "I'd never take Roland away from you, he's—"

"I know," he interrupts, his tone cold and clipped, "that's all I care about."

He's signed the property settlement agreement and petition for child custody, and now he is stuck on that final page of the filing papers. She knows he has reached the part where he has to swear that he doesn't believe there's any chance their marriage can be saved. Pen pushes to paper, but he does not write.

He looks up at her, and he's doesn't look angry and agitated anymore. Instead, his expression is soft, almost like he's been physically wounded. Probably hurt she brought up this sensitive subject on Christmas, that was poor form on her part, reminding him that've doesn't get unfettered access to Roland anymore and some future Christmases may be without that adorable mess of curls running around on Christmas morning. Shit.

Before she can even apologize, there's a weak smile on his face, and his muscles relax, a sense of calm washing over him. And maybe, just maybe, it was a good idea to give him the papers after all.

"I suppose you can count this as my Christmas gift to you," he says, and then he signs it, and hands her the papers back.

She didn't realize how much it would hurt to see him sign until he does.

"I'll try to put on a good face for Roland, alright?"

She nods slightly but doesn't trust her voice enough to speak.

He smooths hands over her shoulders and down her arms, like he used to, and her skin electrifies and sizzles at his touch. Her breath catches when he leans in towards her, so she can take in his familiar, delicious scent, his breath smelling just the faintest bit like wine from dinner. For a second she thinks he's going to kiss her (hates herself for _hoping_ he will) but then he's kissing her forehead instead, although he does it with the tenderness only Robin is capable of. She's even missed this — light, innocent touches and platonic kisses— so desperately, and for so long...

"Goodbye, Regina," he murmurs softly, giving her hand one final squeeze.

And then he walks away from her. Like he is meant to. Like she wanted.

It still hurts.

.::.

Robin keeps his word. Though he does his best to avoid having a reason to be near Regina quite successfully, he no longer scowls and stomps. He acts every bit the part of the festive party goer for the rest of the night, entertaining Roland with Christmas stories and piggy back rides (Robin and Neal have a race in the basement with their respective children on their backs. Robin wins easily, but of course, Roland is about 50 pounds less than Henry, so it's not quite a fair race).

Emma puts on _How The Grinch Stole Christmas_ , and things start to feel warm and homey. Mary Margaret passes around the spiked eggnog for the adults, hot cocoa for Roland and Henry. And when Emma points out Mary Margaret has foregone eggnog for hot cocoa, she admits that yes, she is pregnant. It's a joyous moment for everyone, celebrating both Christmas and the new addition to the family.

Regina loves this, loves that Roland is exposed to holidays full of family love and fun and laughter. She admires this family so much because Robin and his sisters _chose_ this, chose to rise above a dark, harsh childhood fraught with separation and abuse and join to become this loving, close knit family.

They are the perfect example of good coming from broken. And Regina's family will never be the same — there's too much pride and too little love to make it work. She wouldn't ordinarily be jealous of Robin, Emma and Mary Margaret for having _this_ , except...it does scare her, just a bit. Knowing that soon she won't be invited to these shared holidays anymore, and Roland will be old enough to protest a boring holiday in Boston with Cora in favor of this one. And she won't blame him, and she'll give him the happy perfect holidays any way she can. Even if it means spending every holiday alone, missing the family she once knew.

She tries not to spend one of the last holidays she has being melancholic and pining for what hasn't yet been taken from her, but attempts to chase away the sadness leaving her bitter at how well Robin is handling the night. She had wanted him to stop looking like there was a burning, fiery rage boiling inside him threatening to boil over at any second. She hadn't anticipated giving him the divorce papers would transform him so quickly into a jolly party guest.

She spends some time catching up with Graham, talking in low whispered tones so as not to distract Roland and Henry from the Christmas movie playing in the background. Graham must know it's been a heavy day, and he keeps the mood light with whispered jokes that have her giggling and gentle squeezes of her hand that are somewhat comforting. She withdraws a bit into him, away from the outside world of the perfect family surrounding her that she won't be a part of much longer.

She's having a decent time, wrapped up in Graham's stories of regulars at his bar, when Mary Margaret's shrill voice cuts over the Whos in Whoville singing "Welcome Christmas".

"Alright, it's time to open all the gifts that _aren't_ from Santa tonight, and then when we go to sleep, he will come and deliver his gifts in the morning."

Roland shouts _PRESENTS!_ And leads the charge by running from the family room into the kitchen, through the dining room and into the living room where the Christmas tree and gifts are. Henry follows just as excitedly, telling Roland he has to wait for everyone, and it's adorable and sweet. Regina can't help turning to Robin and smiling, hoping to share this beautiful moment with her son's father. But he doesn't so much as glance in her direction.

.::.

Roland doesn't even need a visit from Santa, because his stockpile of presents is already reaching an absurd level. From a nerf archery set that he's certainly too young for (thanks, Uncle Killian) to a snazzy, faux leather jacket from his Aunt Emma (incredibly impractical, but so damn cute), Roland has Christmas covered.

He rips open each gift with such happiness, is absolutely delighted at each new item he gets (even the clothes), shouting out words of thanks and praise for each. It warms her heart that they raised their boy so well. No matter what happens, mistakes they made, they got it right when it came to him.

Roland is supervising as Henry plays with his remote control helicopter in the foyer while the adults exchange their gifts. Mary Margaret sets about distributing the gifts one by one.

"This one's for David, from Robin." Mary Margaret shouts, throwing a small, poorly wrapped present David's way.

He opens it and a shit eating grin erupts on his face lighting up the room the way only David's smile can.

He holds up a Patrick Henry University _Sentinels_ jersey, laughing so hard he can hardly breathe. Robin laughs a bit too, but he's more reserved.

"There's a story here," David says when he composes himself. "Senior year of college, Robin and I went camping with a bunch of guys from the rugby team. And then, on the way back, we pass by this college campus advertising a freshman welcome week. So Robin —" Robin breaks out into a chuckle and shouts _Oh, blame me, why don't you_ — "so _Robin_ says 'why don't we stop by and see if we can score some free food and all that swag they hand out to the new people on campus?' Well,we're on the campus for five minutes before we're stopped by some uppity professor who tells us we are all wrong. Apparently shorts, even on men, are immodest and not allowed on campus. And then you know, Mulan was with Phil back then, and she's holding hands with him, and they say no, you cannot walk hand in hand like that in our campus unless you are married. So he gives us a pitch about how this is a religious college, and their views on women, purity, subservience, and somehow compares a non-virgin woman to a bunch of cracked eggs you'd find at a supermarket …"

"Mulan must have _loved_ that," Regina says with a roll of her eyes.

"I'm sure, but she didn't have a chance to say anything about it, because _Robin_ went off." David corrects. "He started talking about how he would never want a woman like that, and the woman _he_ was going to marry was anything but meek and submissive, and then he goes on describing Regina and—"

Laughter dies down quick, the light mood turns dark and heavy, weighted with the gravity of what he just said.

"Senior year of college?" Mary Margaret asks, "Robin and Regina weren't dating back then."

David shakes his head, "Yeah, sorry, but…"

"He was in love with her from the first moment he met her, blah blah blah, he basically transferred to be closer to her, we all knew it, if Regina didn't know it by now she's crazy. Finish the story, mate." Killian says, blunt and insensitive as ever.

There's silence, and all eyes are on her. All except for Robin, who apparently found something interesting on his shoe to look at instead. She knew he liked her, knew he wanted her. But she didn't know he had thought of marriage with her even back then.

"So anyway, Robin goes off on them and says his wife will wear whatever she wants, and he'll love her for every damn mistake she's made and will ever make, and that's what makes it an adult relationship, and…" he laughs nervously, looking around the room for some support, "they had security escort us off the premises. They called the cops, too. Told them a bunch of satanists invaded their campus. It was crazy."

"And all because you went off on a rant about Regina! You guys were so perfect for each other!" Mary Margaret pouts. Regina could kill her, could literally _kill_ her, and thank god for Emma handling her sister and shutting her up before she can twist the knife even further.

"Alright, next gift," Emma calls out, before the room can turn somber again.

Regina doesn't pay attention to any of the gifts her friends get for one another. She's stuck replaying every moment of her past with Robin, wondering if anyone will ever love her the way he used to.

After a few moments pass, Robin taps her on the shoulder in the middle of gift exchanges between Ava and her new boyfriend, motioning her to follow him into the kitchen.

"I just wanted to apologize," he starts, but she's already shaking her head and voicing a stern _There's no need_ over him. Still, he presses on, "I had no idea that gift would bring out that story, I hope you didn't think I did it on purpose."

"I don't," she assures, "not at all."

"Good," he responds, "and, given that whole mood, I thought I should give you this privately, without an audience, yeah? I'm not sure this will go over well, but..."

It's a small jewelry box, and she opens it with shaky hands.

Inside is a locket. _The_ locket. The antique gold locket with the Locksley coat of arms engraved on it in the midst of other patterns and swirls. "Your grandmother's locket?" she asks, stunned.

"Before she died, she left it to _me._ Not to my father, not to any of my wretched cousins, she left it to _me._ And you know how she loved you. You are who she meant it for."

But the thing is, Robin's grandmother, Rose, died before they separated. And it's not exactly what she planned.

"Robin, she didn't — "

"She gave it to me. I'm giving it to you. I want you to have it, Regina."

She opens the locket to find two pictures of Roland in them, one as a baby, and one from this past September.

"I figured...you might not be a Locksley anymore," he says pointing to the coat of arms on the locket, looking a bit pained. "But, you'll always have a Locksley that you love, yeah?"

She's too emotionally strung and not sure words will come, but this isn't a situation where a nod will do, so she swallows heavy and says "I love it." Tears blur her eyes, and he's seen them already, so she lets them fall, taking a deep breath in and out before adding, "I'm always proud to represent the Locksleys," she adds, smoothing over the locket. "This means so much to me. Thank you."

He nods, his hands find their way to covering hers, stroking softly over fingers and palms. And then she remembers that she has a gift of her own to give him. "Wait right here," she pleads, before running to the tree and picking out his gift.

She had hidden it in the back of the tree, unsure she'd ever get the courage to give it to him, but now he's given her something beautiful and meaningful and she owes him the same courtesy. Still, she's shy and nervous when she hands him the gift.

"I, uh... I got it awhile ago. I was saving it for... well, just open it." Just by holding it, he should know it's a book, but at least there's a bit more to it to keep the element of surprise.

He smiles and nods unties the bow carefully, then rips the paper painfully slowly, while she shifts her weight between her feet nervously.

"This is…"

"It's a first edition," she explains, "Open it."

He already looks touched. She knows what _Slaughterhouse Five_ meant to him, how many of Vonnegut's books helped him through difficult times when he was living in England, but that one in particular held a special place in his heart, because it was the _first_ book he ever truly loved and felt connected to. She's relieved to find she's not the only one hiding back tears; his eyes are glistening in the pale yellow artificial light. And he hasn't even seen the surprise yet.

"My favorite book," he says, and she nods, soaking up the sweet sentimental moment they are unexpectedly sharing.

"Open it," she whispers.

He does, and she watches the disbelief ripple across his face, how his eyes widen, jaw drops, Adam's apple quivers, hand goes to cover his mouth.

"How did you…" He's looking at her like she just gave him the whole world.

"It was years ago," she says, "remember when he was doing a book signing in New York, and you had that final and couldn't go?"

"Yes, and your mother was in town, you couldn't go either," he murmurs.

She shrugs. "I lied. I went to the book signing and missed it, and then I was just at this little bar near the signing just to drown my sorrows, and the man shows up. We spoke... about you. And he told me to give you the book on a rainy day, because presents mean the most when you need them the most. And well, I almost gave it to you on the day the man died, but I couldn't find it. and then I kept waiting for the best time... and well, I figure I won't be there for the rainy days in the future, so..."

He reads the inscription. "To Robin Locksley, a man I wish I met."

His signature and tell-tale doodle are there, and Robin races his fingers over the words from the author he most admired before he pulls Regina into a tight, long hug. "Be there for all the rainy days," he breathes into her ear, "for as long as you can. Please."

"I will. For as long as you want me there," she answers into the crook of his neck.

He pulls back from the hug, and she's entranced by the way every emotion seems to dance in his eyes, how, for a moment she can read him so well.

"Promise?"

She promises.

She sees they look of relief in his eyes before he pulls her into another hug, and sighs _Then you'll always be here,_ and she knows he's being sincere, that he doesn't want her to go, not in this moment, not now at least. And she doesn't really want to go, either.

"It's almost ten," she whispers. "I need to put Roland to bed."

"Can he stay overnight with Henry?" he rasps, "I'd like to tuck him in."

She's already decided he can, had only been waiting for a moment to speak with him about this.

"Yes of course he can but…" she winces, hating to bring it up. "If _I_ stay here, you can't. If we sleep under the same roof it will restart the one year separation rule, and we will have to wait another year before getting the divorce."

Robin closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. "You stay. I can leave and come back early. Or stay the night in the guest house. Emma and Neal will just have to deal with a regular guest room." His mouth splits into a small smile and he looks a bit less morose when he adds, "I'll do whatever I can to make you feel comfortable. Just stay."

She will.

.::.

She misses the ritual of bedtime with their son, of dressing him in pajamas and brushing teeth as a team. It's so much easier, despite Roland's grumpiness (he's up far, far too late even though she timed a nap for him to be up late). They read him _A Night Before Christmas_ , together, and Roland holds interest at first before settling, a thumb finding his way into his mouth, eyes going glassy before shutting and by the time they've reached the final pages they are truly just finishing the story for themselves.

It's playing house. That's what it is. It's going to hurt like hell, losing this all over again after just being reminded how wonderful it is, but for now, she's just going to enjoy the way he looks at her, and her son, the way his hands fall to hers and rub gently over her palms.

She's never going to stop loving him.

She hasn't even tried to put herself back together again, her hand is still locked in his, when they walk downstairs to join the others in the living room. They both take a moment in the doorframe to just... absorb. To prepare to return to the present and end their jaunt into their past.

"Look, Aunt Regina and Uncle Robin are under the mistletoe!" Henry shouts.

Sure enough, there's mistletoe over them, and Regina isn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the cliché.

"You have to kiss!" Henry insists.

" _You_ need to go to bed," Regina argues.

"You are both right," Emma pipes up. "Henry, you have another half hour and then you have to go to bed. You two, get to kissing."

They halfheartedly try to get out of it, but, the thing of it is, she _wants_ to kiss him, and this a great excuse. So after some polite protest, she turns to him, shrugs, and raises an eyebrow. He bites his lip in return, and then he's wrapping his arms around her waist and crashing her towards him.

It starts off chaste, an innocent pressing of the lips. That's all that is needed under the rules of mistletoe, after all. But she feels his lips separate, and she instinctively moves her own to join his, and suddenly his hand is in her hair and one of hers slides up and cups the back of his head, the other gripping tight around his waist.

He tastes just as she remembered. There's absolutely no reason why she should be enjoying the sweet peppermint candy that's flavored his tongue, mixing with his natural taste. And she inhales, that musky, deep scent of aftershave, shampoo that smells faintly of like her own apple-scented kind, his pine scented soap, and she's done fighting this. Not that she'd have any hope of winning the fight, the way his fingers feel running through her hair and scratching her scalp, the way his mouth feels, lips wet and warm against hers, tongue swirling and massaging against her own in a way that makes her toes curl.

Then suddenly the rest of the world melts away, and she kisses more aggressively, using the hand cupping the back of his head to push him closer, tilting her head to get a better angle. He moans into her mouth, and the sound itself gives her goosebumps. It's passionate and heady, a bit rough and desperate, but feels wonderful, until she has to come up for air and breaks the kiss. He's panting as well, but still manages to press a few more kisses between breaths.

"Gross!" Henry cries. "That is way more than just _one_ kiss!"

"Henry, you _should_ be in bed!" Mary Margaret scolds. Of course she's worried about his bedtime _now,_ when he's just broken up a very intense kiss between the couple she's been trying to get back together for a year.

Regina takes a breath and turns to the rest of the room. All eyes are on them, looking both shocked and embarrassed. My god, Robin's mother is staring at her as if they just stripped down and screwed right in front of them. Even Emma, who ordinarily can control her emotions at times like these, is all wide eyed and open mouthed. When Emma locks eyes with Regina, she mouths a silent _wow_. And yes, apparently that kiss had _looked_ as serious as it _felt._

"So, have we opened all the presents?" Regina asks, clearing her throat a bit as she walks back to the tree, near where Emma is seated. Emma shoots her a look that clearly says _You are getting yourself into trouble,_ but she ignores it, pretends like she didn't just get into a heavy make out session with her ex-husband in front of their family and friends.

"Regina, this one is for you," Emma says, grabbing the nearest present from under the tree. "It's from Graham."

Oh.

It's just a scarf and a hat, but they are a beautiful shade of burgundy and they are soft and warm. She puts them on for size and thanks him. Graham reaches from the couch to squeeze her hand and remind her that it's nothing, it's just something small.

The next gift is for Mary Margaret from David, but she's not midway through the present opening process before Robin is walking out of the room in stiff, strong movements. Then they hear the front door slam, and all eyes shift to Regina.

"You should go check on him," Emma whispers, "he looks really upset."

Regina frowns, considering whether it's best for her heart to continue to have these moments with the man she will soon be divorcing. But then she remembers Robin's pained expression and there's really no question as to where she wants to be. So she excuses herself and sets her mind on finding Robin and bringing him back.

.:::.

He didn't go far. She spots him on the front porch, just leaning over the railing. She grabs their coats and makes two cups of Irish coffee and meets him there, sliding his cup across the railing as she hands him his coat. He gives her a small smile before bringing the cup to his lips, pausing when he smells the alcohol.

"You sure?" he asks. It's only then she remembers that she had conditioned her visit on him not drinking too much. He's afraid to lose her trust again, and it kills her.

"I think you've earned a drink. It's been a roller coaster of a day. Besides, you are far from inebriated, and I trust you to know when you've had too much. I know Thanksgiving was an extenuating circumstance." She lifts her glass and he clinks his against hers as they both murmur "Cheers".

"Sorry I walked out," he says then, still staring out at the road instead of her. "I'm trying, Regina. It's—- it's hard to see you with Graham. I know I've no right, and—-"

"I'm not with Graham. He's just being a good friend." She sighs, frustrated and angry at the relief that washes over his face when she adds, "But now you know how I feel. It hasn't been exactly easy to see you with Marian over the past, what has it been? Nearly a year?"

Robin still has that goofy smile on his face. "I'm not with Marian, Regina."

She rolls her eyes and gives him a look conveying all the rage she's held in for months. "Don't insult me, Robin. I know. I know you are keeping it from your family, for some reason, but—"

"I swear, we are just friends helping each other through a rough time. We are in a support group together—"

"You see her all the time. She's at all the family holidays."

"When she left Keith her family initially estranged her, you know how conservative they are? Divorce, even if your husband is an abusive prick, is still apparently off limits. So she's been sort of adopted into our family, except... well, they've reconciled. That's why she's home for Christmas. I thought Mary Margaret explained this all to you, I would have cleared it up otherwise."

"I saw you kissing her," she groans. "The jig is up. I get wanting to keep it from me at first, but—"

"You saw us on New Year's Eve," is all he says, and he looks mortified, and how did he know when she saw them?

"Yes... how did you know that was the day?"

"Because it's the only time it happened, Regina, God." There are tears in his eyes, and she doesn't think she's ever seen him look more miserable. "This whole time you thought I was in some sort of relationship with her? No wonder you never wanted to talk to me."

It's like the dam breaks, and she finally voices the hurt she's held down for so long. "We had just separated. It hadn't been much more than a month, Robin. And you moved on and—" she's full on sobbing now, her voice taking on that high pitched squeal she _hates,_ she feels weak and pathetic but for the first time she feels like she can breathe in front of him. "Didn't I mean _anything_ to you?"

He reaches for her and she flinches, taking a step back from him and he winces and traps his hands in his pockets, as if he's afraid they will move toward her of their own volition.

"You mean _everything_ to me." He enunciates every syllable slowly and clearly, focused entirely on her eyes. "You didn't even talk to me that month, Regina. And I didn't get to see my son for Christmas. You took him, and I, I was so miserable. I missed you and Roland so much."

"You didn't tell me that. When I texted you and told you I wanted to take Roland to my mother's for Christmas you just said to do whatever I wanted. I thought you'd fight me, tell me you wanted me back—"

"And I thought you'd change your mind and come back to me. I wanted it to be your choice. And when it wasn't... I was a wreck. I went on a little bit of a bender between Christmas and New Years that resulted in seeing Marian again at a bar. And we went out to an open bar singles party on New Year's. And we got good and plastered, and I did— we did, we slept together that night, but—"

She knew this, never doubted it for a second, but hearing him say the words splits her in two, cracks her wide open, and she's raw and bleeding and angry and seething in pain. "Was it good?" she asks, unable to suppress the short stifled sobs erupting from within her.

"What?"

"Was she better than me, did she do things to you that I can't, was it everything you've dreamed of, having her again, was it worth it, was it…" She leans elbows on the porch railing and buries her face in her hands, letting herself just surrender to the tears wracking her body. It's all over now, this pretense of being strong and at peace with everything. It's been too hard to keep pretending and a year later it somehow hurts just as acutely as it did back then. There's no use fighting it. She can't carry the weight of secrets and unanswered questions anymore.

She feels a hand touch tentatively on her back, and when she doesn't move away from the touch it grows more firm, rubbing little circles between her shoulder blades, like he used to when she was stressed or sad, and nostalgic memories of their past together overwhelm her. She can't do this. She wipes her tears and pushes his hand away, then turns to face him. Her eyebrows rise and her head tilts, waiting for him to answer.

"Regina…" His hand seeks her cheek, but she takes a step back to avoid it and he puts it away.

"Answer the question." she orders in a soft voice. "Be honest. I can tell when you are lying."

He takes in a deep breath and holds it, blowing it out slowly, his breathing out into wisps of smoke swirling in the cool night air. "I can't remember a lot of that night," he admits, "what I can remember I wish I couldn't. I can remember she was... aggressive. But not passionate. More… angry. And I was, too. And I can remember saying your name, during…" He grimaces and is obviously too caught in a spiral of self-loathing to finish his confession. Regina winces, but there's a slight sense of vindication that has no right to be there. The fact she wasn't so easily forgotten in the throes of passion is something, isn't it?

"That's… god, Marian... is she ok?"

Robin nods. "She said she was. But she didn't deserve that, to be used by a lonely grieving man. I'm trying to make it up to her, because it was all a mistake. The next morning we both agreed as much, so we promised never to speak of it again, and it was... horrible. A terrible way to bring in a terrible year. I've regretted every second of it."

"You never wanted her again, wondered what it would be like to have her, to be with her?" She's shivering and shaking, but it's not from the cold.

"No. No, Regina, I have never wanted anyone but you from the moment we met." He covers his forehead with his palm and slides it down his eyes, rubbing vigorously. "I can't believe you thought I was with her. No wonder you shut me out. God I am so, so sorry. If I thought there was any chance you knew, I would have explained, I would have begged you to forgive me, I would have told you how much I…" He reaches out for her, then must remember she has been shrinking from his touch and restrains himself. "You were supposed to be in Boston for New Year's. What were you doing at that time of night so close to my apartment?" He asks, his eyes full of hope.

She shakes her head and her gaze falls to the floor. It's a mortifying confession. "I came back from Boston early. I missed you, I was going to…" she inhales a shaky breath and gives herself a moment, just so he has control over her movements and voice, "I was going to beg you for another chance, to see if you could try to love me again, but…" She swallows heavy but it does nothing to alleviate the lump in her throat. "It was for the best that it didn't happen. I don't want a loveless marriage. Even if I thought you hadn't moved on yet, you would eventually, and you don't love me—"

His eyes widen and then he throws caution to the wind and wraps his arms around her. She goes willingly, using his chest to muffle her soft cries. "Of course I do, Regina, I never stopped loving you, even for a second. I love you so much."

"You said—" She has replayed the moment he told her he no longer loved her a thousand times. And she knows what he looks like when he lies, and never did she see any sign of being anything but completely sincere.

"I know what I said. It was bullshit." He interrupts. "I was hurt and angry. I regretted it the second I said it, but you said it first, and I thought it really might be over." His words come out in whimpered pants, and she's slightly less mortified at her ready breakdown, knowing he's in tears too.

"I never stopped loving you, either." she sobs into his chest.

His arms wrap around her tighter now, and he's planting kisses into her hair, whispering _I love you, I'm sorry_ between each kiss.

It's all overwhelming and surreal, and suddenly she needs to see his face to make sure this is actually happening. She draws back from his embrace enough to look him in the eyes, to see his tear stained face, his glistening eyes, his quivering lips…

She's not sure who pulls into the kiss first, him or her, but it feels like they both had the idea at the same time. It's not gentle, it's sloppy and desperate, as the two of them pour every emotion they've withheld over the past year into the kiss. He has a hand in her hair, the other on the small of her back, and her hands are wrapped around his waist. There's a reverence to the kiss, it's got a healing aspect to it that is almost cathartic, and she's overcome by all she feels for this man. But the mood is far too somber, too serious, and she doesn't want to cry anymore, so she takes matters into her own hands, set on lightening the mood, and reaches those hands that were around his waist lower, grabbing his ass shamelessly.

He chuckles into the kiss, and she does, too, and then he mimics her hands movements with his own, taking an unashamed palm full of her ass and kneading in _that_ way, the way she's liked and missed for so long. It's cold outside, but his palm is warm, and it sends zings of pleasure all over her body, and now she can add lust to the laundry list of emotions battling for dominance within her.

He breaks the kiss with a wet pop, then dots kisses around her hairline, moving his hand from her ass underneath her coat to her upper back, rubbing small circles there.

"This isn't going away," he says, looking at her with a sense of conviction, "I've barely spoken to you for a year and I've missed you every day. I've loved you just as strongly, just as much, for all this time."

"Me, too," she shivers and fights the urge to lose eye contact, to hide and withdraw from the emotion in his eyes.

"I never should have signed, Regina, I don't want a divorce." He pulls her into another hug, and this time she's the one gripping and tightening, holding him as closely to her as she can. "I was an idiot, I should have fought for us, I only signed because it was what you wanted."

"It's been so long, so much time has passed," she points out, because it has really, they've lost a year they could have spent with each other and much could have changed within that year.

"I know. I know. But it's not too late. Rip up the papers. Don't file, I didn't mean to sign, please. I don't want a divorce."

She pulls back again to look at him in the eye, her fingers lacing through his own. "I— that's a big decision to make all at once. Don't you think you should sleep on it?"

"You can take all the time you need," he assures, running his hands up and down her back. "But I've thought this through, and my mind's made up. Our marriage is everything to me. And..." he reaches in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small black box.

She stiffens in his arms in absolute disbelief. He couldn't — he wasn't planning to— what is he doing?

"I meant to give you this on Thanksgiving, I had a whole speech worked out about how we first met on Thanksgiving, about how I proposed to you on Thanksgiving, I had planned everything perfectly... but then I had a bit too much whiskey and I don't think I sufficiently wooed you in my state."

She's shaking, and sniffling, and tears are falling down her face, but she still manages a chuckle that spreads a warm smile across his face, and has him biting his lip to suppress laughing alongside her.

He lowers himself to his knees, staring up at her with such adoration that it squeezes painfully at her heart. "Regina Locksley, I gave you this ring years ago and promised to always love, cherish, protect, and respect you. And I've always done that, but I did a shit job of making sure you always knew how much I loved, and cherished, and respected you. Even when we fight, and god,it hurts to fight, to see you mad because of _me_. But I love you so much, for your passion, and your heart and I would live every day fighting with you, and losing, for the rest of my life, if it means I get to sleep next to you at the end of the day. So please, Regina, please stay married to me."

He opens the black box, and there it is, her engagement ring. It's a small little diamond as a centerpiece, but it's rich with engravings, and beautiful and unique and everything she had ever wanted in a ring. It killed her to return it to him in January, after she lost any hope of reconciling their marriage. It meant more to her than anything, because it was a family heirloom, from the only Locksley family member who truly loved and cared for him.

Her hand stretches out, fingers wiggle, and he places the ring on her finger like he did years ago, then kisses fingertips and palms.

She urges him up, shaky palms pressed against shoulders, and then he's kissing her again, pressed up against her, fitting and completing every part of her that felt empty since the moment he left. Her tongue moves against his slowly, delicately, while her hand scratches his scalp with the exact pressure she knows he loves.

"Is that a _Yes, I will stay married to you_?" he asks into her ear, "Because if not, I am prepared to convince you to stay for as long as it takes."

"We still have so much to work on," she reminds, "and we may have changed a lot over the last year, we may not be the same people we once were."

"It could be ten years and I would still want to be with you, no matter how much you changed. But you haven't changed much, you're still the amazing mother and loving woman I fell in love with. I love you so much, Regina."

"I love you, too." And oh, how marvelous it is to say those words, after fighting them down for so long.

"Rip up those divorce papers," Robin begs, "I don't like knowing that they exist somewhere, that I signed my name to a blatant lie. I'll never stop hoping for us to fix this."

"I don't like the idea of pieces of our property settlement agreement blowing all over the neighborhood," she muses, "but I have a better idea." She smiles devilishly and then kisses him again. It's less desperate, more comfortable, as if she's already slipped into the familiar routine of claiming his lips at a conversation's end.

He follows her back to the living room. Everyone is still there, absorbed in Christmas presents and cleanup and several independent conversations between each other. She pauses before entering the threshold of the room, wondering how to best break the news that she and Robin are... something.

"Look! Aunt Regina and Uncle Robin are under the mistletoe again!" Henry shouts.

She and Robin share a smile, and then he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and winks at her.

"Are we now?" He asks. "Well, we better kiss, then."

He dips her then, like he used to early in their relationship when they would dance, or when they were all keyed up after a night of drinking. Her arms loop around his neck and she tilts easily against him. And then he brushes his hands through her hair, and she moves a hand to cover his cheek, tilts her chin up toward him and…

 _Mmm!_

Robin sweeps down and crashes his mouth to hers, hard and passionately, his lips immediately parting when she licks at them. She kisses him deeply, tongue darting against his, reveling in the way he is almost devouring her. The sound of him moaning into the kiss _does_ things to her, she feels like a teenager as a rush of anticipation and list rises within her. She cannot get enough of him, needs more. She hears a whistle coming from someone — _Killian,_ she thinks, but hell, she doesn't care. Her tongue is halfway down his throat when Henry lets out a _Not again! Eww!_ and they both laugh into the kiss, but don't immediately separate. In this moment, right there and now, there is no question of what she wants. It's clear as day.

When they finally part, she walks over to where she had left her purse, and reaches to grab the folded papers inside. Nearly everyone in the room is staring at her; Ava seems pleased, if a bit uncomfortable, Graham's biting back laughter, Emma's jaw has dropped to the floor, and Mary Margaret's smug smile is lighting up the room.

"Fire looks a little low," Regina says as she walks toward to inspect it. "This should help."

She throws the papers into the fire, taking a moment to watch as they set aflame, turning shades of amber and orange before fading to black ash. And then she turns around and catches Robin's sappy, lovesick puppy face and her heart melts. She ignores the weight of her family and friend's eyes on her as she takes her spot on her husband's lap, where she's always belonged.

"Oh thank god!" Mary Margaret exclaims, excitedly.

"Emma, you and Neal can take the guest house out back. Robin doesn't need it." Regina says, her gaze never moving from Robin's, her nose rubbing against his flirtatiously, smiling broadly as she loops her hands around his neck.

"Alright, no take-backs," Emma says quickly. "Come on, Henry, bedtime. This is no longer a room fit for children," she teases, ribbing Robin gently. He looks up at his sister in mock offense before returning his gaze to his wife.

"Well, I'm going to get going," Graham says with a smile. Regina is too busy sharing a lovesick smile with her husband to look up at Graham as he speaks, but she nods, and wishes him a Merry Christmas.

He pats her shoulder with platonic affection. "Really happy for you, Regina," he tells her, "you too Robin."

"Cheers, mate," Robin says, with all the sincerity he can muster.

Mary Margaret walks him out, no doubt apologizing for Regina's rudeness, but she couldn't find it in her to care about anything besides the man in her arms right now.

"You sure you're okay with me spending the night here?" He rasps into her ear, before licking and nibbling her lobe.

"Never been more sure of anything in my life," she assures, unable to hold back the goofy grin spreading across her face. "I was thinking," she whispers into his ear, kissing his jaw, "we could lie next to each other," she kisses that spot on his neck that makes him shiver "and," she nuzzles her nose against his again "talk." She presses her lips against his softly but passionately.

"Mmm, I've missed _talking_ to you. I would like to _talk_ all night, like we used to," he whispers cheekily and she snorts, amused at his excitement. Speaking of excitement, even though they are only trading chaste kisses, she can _feel_ his excitement from where she is sitting on his lap, and it thrills her in an entirely unexpected way (it shouldn't, his mother is in the kitchen, due to come back at any second, and one of his sisters is still here, and while everyone has resumed idle chit-chat and Robin had picked a seat in the corner, away from the rest of the family, she knows most people are probably still stealing glances in their direction.)

"I... really meant _talk_ ," she whispers back stifling a giggle when he winces apologetically, "it's just, I want to take it slow. I don't want to screw us up again."

"Me, either," he assures. "Whatever you want."

.::.

It is boiling hot by the time everyone has said their goodnights and Robin and Regina retreat upstairs to the bed they will share. Regina had meant to wear the Christmas pajamas that Ava had given her for Christmas, but it's much too warm for flannel, so she grabs the overnight bag from her car and picks out her black camisole and the thin cotton shorts she had brought in case she had wanted to run on David's treadmill in the morning. She changes in the bathroom down the hall, with care to do her same nightly ritual of carefully removing her makeup, moisturizing her skin, brushing her teeth, combing her hair… to perform every last detail the same, despite the fact she's shaking with nervous anticipation like an excited school girl at the thought of sharing a bed with her husband.

When she returns to the guest room, she finds Robin already lounging in bed, propped against the headboard, his lower body covered by a thin sheet, the comforter completely drawn back.

She smiles ear-to-ear at the sight of him. It's not that she's forgotten how good looking he is (she hasn't, not for a moment, that portion of her mind would never let her forget that fact the entire year they were separated), it's that she had resigned herself to never seeing him like _this_ again, and now here he is, and it's the best Christmas present she could ever ask for.

"Hey," she coos, her heart picking up, head tilting just so.

"Hi," he gets up from the bed, and she sees he's just wearing boxers, and god, she loves him like this, nearly stripped and gorgeous.

He folds her into his chest, and she feels his hot skin against her cool, recently washed face.

"Why is it so fucking hot in here?" He huffs.

Regina laughs, a then whispers, "Mary Margaret is pregnant. She's having sudden shifts in mood _and_ temperature."

"Ahh," he says, squeezing her tightly against him, "You went through a bit of that. I remember."

"Mmm," she answers, but she couldn't care less about the conversation, because he smells like mint and pine soap and _Robin,_ and the heat of the room has him working up the slightest bit of sweat and it's just making his body look ever more irresistible. She breathes him in, unashamed of the hum of pleasure she makes against his neck.

The hug lasts longer than it need be. Hands start to explore, his wandering over the dips and curves along her sides from hips to breasts, hers moving up and tracing the muscles of his back, then sliding back lower, just above his ass.

It's his soft moan that wakes her from the moment, and she remembers that they aren't supposed to be jumping into bed together in _that_ way.

"Let's open the window a crack," she offers and he nods and snickers a _Yes, I'm getting a bit overheated myself,_ and makes his way to the far window. She falls onto the bed, over the sheets, leaving the comforter oddly folded at the bottom. After opening the window he turns back to see her there, lying in wait for him, and he tilts his head and whimpers. Regina stretches a hand out in his direction and beckons him to join her.

"You are beautiful," he says as he slides next to her. They are lying side-to-side, wearing identical goofy grins, hands reaching to touch flushed and exposed skin.

"You are... distractingly attractive," she admits. He runs a hand up her spine and then moves it to her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and she lets out a soft sigh.

"I love that sound," he groans, "thought about it so much over the past year."

"Mmm, did you?" she asks suggestively. She moves her leg to wrap around his, pressing her body against his.

"Mhm, I missed you so much, Regina."

"I know, I can feel it." She says the words before she can second-guess her joke as maybe being a bit... inappropriate. But he's pressed flush against her, and the physical indication of how much he wants her is making itself known in the space between them.

He chuckles at the joke, to her relief, and she joins him immediately, body shaking with muffled laughter.

"I promise, I am trying to keep this innocent, but you've no idea how good you look," he chuckles, "and smell," he takes a long sniff into the crook of her neck, and the soft feeling of his breath and nose against the sensitive, tingling skin feels electric, has her gasping sharply, "and sound," he adds with a shy smile.

She scratches fingernails through his scalp and Robin groans softly, "and feel."

She presses her lips against his with a knowing smile and murmurs "You feel good, too."

They stare into each other's eyes for a bit, soaking up the beauty of this moment. Then Robin clears his throat and asks, "So, tell me everything I missed this past year."

Her nose crinkles, eyes shut tight into a wince, but the question brings a smile to her face because she did ask that they talk, and he's honoring her request.

"There's not to much to tell," she sighs, "I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself and trying to get over you. I rearranged the furniture in the bedroom. I started taking a kickboxing class." She shrugs, "Little things like that."

"Did you ever see anyone over the last year?" She winces and ducks, and he adds, "You had every right to do whatever you want in that regard. I'm just being nosy."

"No, it's okay," she assures. "We should talk about it. After I saw you with Marian, I…" She shakes her head and rolls her eyes at herself, "I thought I needed to move on, too. I wasn't really sure how to do that, I'm not... so great at being social. And I'm a bit too... mature for bars. So I joined a dating website." She laughs, but Robin doesn't laugh with her. He's slightly tense, but he needn't be.

"I went on three dates," she admits, "and they were not bad, but... not what I wanted. These were men looking for a relationship and I was too hung up on you." She lays a hand on either cheek and kisses him sweetly. He returns the kiss, adds another when she draws back, and smiles at her. "All I needed was a good long fuck." And as soon as the words are out, she knows it wasn't the best thing to say. He coughs and stiffens further, pressing his lips together and looking utterly uncomfortable. She hadn't meant to make him jealous, truly did not want to hurt him. Still, there's something oddly sweet about his concern about her body under someone else's during a time when they did not belong to one another.

He lifts his chin to kiss her forehead, and squeezes her tight. "Did you get what you needed?" he asks, attempting to be okay with it, with her need for a physical release in the wake of her mourning their marriage. But despite the fact he has no right to be, he's jealous and upset, and trying to control himself, for her. It's touching in its own right.

"No," she soothes. She loves the sound of the relieved puff of breath he lets out, but, "Hey," she says swapping him lightly on the chest. "You got yours. You don't get to be happy that I didn't get the same."

"I'm sorry," he says earnestly, but he can't resist smiling. He's wrapped his arms around her and their legs are tangled in one another's. She readjusts herself slightly, feeling a delicious friction between her legs as she moves This is dangerous.

"If it helps at all, I also did not get a 'good long fuck'. It was neither of those things, from what I can remember."

They share another moment of amusement in each other's stupidity (how was she ever blind and dumb enough to think she _could_ get over him, when he was right there, all gorgeous and caring and in front of her?). He's rubbing her leg, and it feels amazing, and then she stretches just so her core rubs against where he's hard for her, and it's heaven. She wants more. And then she grimaces, because this is about honesty, and they are starting anew, and she has something to confess. No — not confess — to _share._ She's done nothing wrong, there's nothing to confess.

"I did go out with Ruby for her bachelorette," she admits. "It was...well, there were a lot of drinks, and it had been so long since I felt someone against me, been touched, I missed it, and there was this guy…" the hand that Robin has used to rub circles around her lower back stops, and his eyes go wide. She closes her eyes, intent on finishing the story without dying of embarrassment. "We just danced. We, err, _grinded,_ and I was so worked up, and I missed you so much…" she opens her eyes, but instead of finding him angry, or sad, he looks... interested. Intrigued. She moves her hips against him, and he pistons his hips slightly to meet hers, an arm on her back urging the movements. "I came on his leg," she breathes, and he groans, it sounds lustful, pent up, not judging or upset, "Thought of you as I came, Robin, it felt so good…"

She's rocking against him now, no pretense of just squirming or repositioning. Her center is lined up against where he's achingly hard, her legs wrapped around him, and every grinding movement is delicious and freeing.

"God, that's sexy," he moans, kissing her deeply. "I thought about you so much over the past year," he reaches a hand over her ass, cupping lightly, until she thrusts against him harder and moans, urging him on. Then he grips firmly, rubbing and kneading at her ass and muttering a broken _God…_ against her ear. "That week I got to see you everyday, over the summer, you made me so hot…" he kisses her again, then angles himself to sample her neck. "I was jerking off at least once a day to the thought of you." He's grinding against her hard, and she cries out in pleasure and confesses _"_ Me, too."

"I had to, twice sometimes, like when you wore that dress, with the zipper," He's panting, and she's making sounds that she's sure are the very definition of unladylike, but they've worked out a pace and a position that is hitting her clit just perfectly, and she's so wet her panties are sliding up and down with each thrust, and a dry hump has never felt so sensual, so wonderful. What was once a slight warm feeling is now a pulsing, throbbing need, and she wants him so badly she can hardly see straight.

"Wore it for you," she gasps, and he must have assumed as much because the sound that comes out of him is sent from god, and then he kisses her desperately, passionately, swallowing her moans greedily. "Needed you so badly that night — _mmm! —_ you kept looking at me like you'd do before you'd jump on top of me — _oh god! —_ I was so wet, Robin, when we finished dinner, after we put Roland to bed— _fuck_ , _that feels amazing_ — I wanted you so bad, thought about your mouth and your cock and worked on myself all night —- _mmm, don't stop_ — you should have made a move, it wouldn't have taken much and I would have been all over you, I came so hard thinking about you, would have been so much better with you…"

He's grinding against her shamelessly, and he can probably feel how wet she already is judging from each labored, excited whimper of breath he makes.

"Let me go down on you," he groans, "just now, please, I've caused you so much pain over the last year, just let me give you this, let me—"

But he's made his case, and made it well, and she doesn't need to hear the rest of his argument, not when his tongue could be doing other, better things, so she interrupts, nods her head vigorously and pants, _Please!_

He rolls her onto her back and loops thumbs underneath her shorts and underwear, drawing them both down in a frantic motion.

"Spread your legs for me, darling, I beg you," he pleads. He used to just move her how he wanted her (she likes when he takes control like that), but it seems now he wants her to be in charge, for it to be unquestionably her decision. So she spreads her legs wide and urges him between her.

"Fuck you're gorgeous." he murmurs into her thigh before planting a kiss there, just a small peck, and her thighs shake and quiver at the touch, wisps of prickling pleasure drawing from that kiss to her clit. She rocks her hips up into the air on instinct, biting her lip because she will _not_ moan at a simple god damned kiss, but now he's licking at her, drawing his tongue up from that spot to her center, and a stifled _Ahh!_ escapes despite her best efforts.

He trails open, wet, sucking kisses just around, but not quite where she needs him (just like he used to, he's insufferable) and she lets out an exasperated sigh and tugs at his hair, urging him closer, but instead she just feels the warm vibration of his chuckled breath against her sensitive skin, too light to soothe the ache inside of her, but enough to make her ever more needy.

"I'm sorry, I have to just," he mutters, and then he draws one long, delicious lick from between her folds, from bottom to top, swirling his tongue gently around her clit. She hisses a _Yessssss_ but it's over too quickly, and his mouth is back away from her most sensitive parts. "You're soaked, darling," he looks like he's about to devour her, and god, she wishes he would. "I wanted to wait, but it's been so long since I tasted you, and you taste so good, I had to…"

"Don't apologize for doing that, apologize for stopping," she snips, making a halfhearted attempt to coax his head back to where she needs him.

"Soon," he promises, "it's better this way, you like it, yeah?"

She does, usually, likes when those soft touches make her ever more sensitive and riled up, but she's those things already, doesn't know if it's possible to be more of either. She huffs out a frustrated sigh and he laughs and kisses her, right above where she needs him, a hand running down her thigh in a way that is meant to soothe. And then he continues to dab kisses up her other thigh, tongue swirling against responsive flesh that turns to goosebumps with each press of his mouth.

She uses her hands to scratch fingers through his hair at first, but when he finally swipes his tongue through her folds, she lets out a sound far too pornographic and far too loud, considering they are a few rooms away from their sleeping son. She remembers this, and a hand flies to cover her mouth with a loud clap.

Robin lets out an excited sound, a little sharp _Mmm!_ But he doesn't let up, he's spurred on now, and finally ready to stop teasing and just give her what she needs. He continues lapping her up greedily, as if he were a starving man and she was the last food on earth. She can feel her thighs trembling around his face, his beard lightly scratching and tickling, setting her on fire. She's overstimulated now, her entire body tingling, jolts of electricity zinging to her throbbing clit, and it's been a long evening and a long year and she won't make it through long foreplay.

"Robin, please! I need it, please it's been so long I can't, you have to…"

"Do you want my fingers?" he whispers into her hot, dripping center, each puff of breath contributing to the overwhelming ache between her thighs.

He knows the answer. He knows what her body needs to climax better than anyone, and that is almost always a requirement, the occasional friction-based orgasm aside. So she nods her head vigorously, lets out a slightly too loud _Yah-ohh!,_ a feeble attempt to answer him when he's still working her over with his tongue, now giving her slow, firm licks right over her sensitive bundle of nerves. Maybe she could come without his fingers, maybe she doesn't need them, this could be enough, but she _wants_ them, it'll make it so much better…

 _Thank god!_

She feels two calloused fingertips sliding through her wetness, circling around her opening slowly but firmly... and then movement stops.

She looks down at him to find him looking at her, eyes dark and hooded, looking as lustful as she's ever seen him. But he's paused, as if he's waiting for her to give permission. "Please Robin, I missed your fingers so much, need them so bad, want to feel them inside me again, want to come on them— _Ahh!"_

He moans with her as he slides two fingers inside her slowly, muttering _Fuck, love, you're so, so. wet, so hot, so tight…_

He angles his fingers just so, as if no time had passed, and enters her in slow deliberate strokes. It affects her instantly, pleasure blooming from deep inside her, runs through her veins, white hot and electric.

"God you feel perfect, Robin," she breathes, gripping the sheets in anticipation, because she knows what is coming, he's going to go faster, going to hit that throbbing spot inside her, he's going to…

"Faster, please babe," she groans, rocking her hips in a quick rhythm she hopes he will mimic with his fingers.

He gives another slow angled stroke that sends a pulse of pleasure through her when it hits exactly where it needs to. "Just there, love?"

"Mmhmm, just like that, but — _ohh!_ —- faster."

"Mmm, I know, love, I know what you need," he soothes, "but you're already wound tight, you'll come the moment I—" she nods and nearly cries a _Yes! please!_ and he relents, settling back down between her thighs. "Alright, darling, I just wanted this to last as long as you could manage, don't want it to end…"

"I just want to come; I don't want it to end," she sighs exasperatedly. He's been with her for long enough to know that now she's riled up and desperate and in the mood for more than one climax, but he still manages to look relieved and thrilled at her words.

He doesn't torture her anymore, increases the pace with every stroke, until he's moving hard and fast, smacking into her loudly with every thrust.

She loses control of her mouth, she's babbling something, letting loose every concealed emotion she's kept inside all this time, and there have been _lots,_ and now he's easing all her aches, all that longing, all that desire she's bottled inside her for _a fucking year._

Her hands move to her neglected breasts, fingers plucking and twisting hypersensitive nipples, and then everything goes into overdrive so hard, so fast. It's unexpected but incredible, she feels herself dripping down his fingers, jolts of pleasure ricocheting inside her and burning blissfully as she climaxes.

"You look so gorgeous when you come," he rasps, and she catches him watching her, eyes fixated on her breasts, licking his lips as if she were some tantalizing meal just out of reach.

"You always like to watch," she manages between pants.

If he wasn't so wired up, he might have laughed, because he's begged to watch her touch herself so many times over the years and it is unquestionably a kink of his. But he's still breathless from watching her come, and his fingers haven't quite stopped from moving inside her, and now she's fluttering around his fingers, warm and wet and wanting, and he's not about to leave the lustful mood of the moment.

"More?" he asks, his fingers picking up the pace ever so slightly.

"Yes, god yes," she whines, throwing her head back against the pillow, legs opening wide, hand cupping at the back of his head and urging him to go down on her.

"God, you're close again," he groans, "feels so good when you squeeze around my fingers like this, you've no idea how good you feel, how good you look…"

He knows what she needs, but he's not doing it, and it frustrates her. She squirms in his grasp hoping he will get the message, to no avail.

"Robin — _oh_ — please! Your mouth," she begs, thrashing her head back and forth.

He doesn't argue with her at all, just sets to please her. He wraps lips around a throbbing, pulsing clit, and she arches her back and gasps in pure ecstasy as he sucks and darts his tongue against the overstimulated bundle of nerves. It's almost perfect, she'll come soon but she just needs a bit more.

"More... _so good..._ more fingers.."

He hums, his mouth still sucking at her, and it feels absolutely delicious. He adds a third finger and fucks and sucks her hard, and then she feels herself finally reaching that peak, finally climbing over the edge yet again.

"Robin, I love you — love you, you feel so good, I'm, I'm — gonna — gonna come so hard, so much... _Ohhhhhhh_!"

Orgasm overtakes her, jolts of pure bliss erupting inside her, and she can barely stifle her whimpers and cries. It feels so _good,_ so much better than she could ever do herself, he's so perfect for her that way, always has been.

When she reaches the over-sensitive phase, where tingles become tickles, she's loathe to stop him, so she fights through it as long as she can, until a particularly strong suckle at her clit has her squealing in laughter.

He lets up then, offering her a guilty smile before he crawls up into bed with her. "Sorry, darling, you taste too good, can't get enough of you."

She smiles at him adoringly and shakes her head, still in awe of him, so thankful for whatever she did to deserve this man to be in her life in this way. She cups his chin in her hand and kisses him deeply, tasting herself on his tongue and lips.

He responds desperately to her, wrapping an arm around her instantly, groaning into her mouth, urging her to pull closer towards him.

She remembers just then that she's had a much needed release (twice), but he hasn't yet, and the poor man looks about ready to burst. She slides a hand down between them and grabs him out of his boxers. He thrusts into her hand and whimpers at the touch, then apologizes and stills her hand.

"I just wanted to make you feel good," he says between labored breaths, "Been wanting to make you feel good for so long. I didn't do it so you would... didn't expect you to…"

"Mmm, I know," she assures, giving him a firm tug. She laughs at herself, at the absurdity of this moment, "I want it again already, I came so hard, both times and I already need you again, I need to feel you…"

He's up immediately. Shifts out of her grasp and attempts to reposition himself between her thighs. It's not exactly what she wants (she wants his cock, wants it badly and _now_ ), but she's not going to turn down his mouth, not ever, she could just...redirect it to a different place. So she grabs his hand and moves it up and over her right breast, pressing it firmly against her with a little sigh of _Pleas_ e to urge him on.

"Thank fucking god," he groans, "missed these so much."

He urges her to remove her camisole, which she does in a quick moment, and then he's making sweeping glances over her form, eyes fixating on her curves. "Gorgeous." he breathes, running a hand down her body, sending shivers down her spine. "Love you like this, naked and flushed, and wanting me."

"I like you naked, too," she confesses, "take those off." He chuckles and sighs an _As milady wishes,_ stepping out of the only item of clothing he has on. And then there's nothing between them, and she can see exactly how much he wants her in every way.

He crawls up her body a bit, palming a breast, fondling and twisting the nipple the way she likes, drawing out little gasps with each unhurried movement of his fingers. "Is this alright?" he asks, before lowering himself to lick and suckle the other breast, and she hisses out an earnest _Yesss_ and cups the back of his head, running fingers through his hair as he licks and sucks at her.

It's sweet torture, being worked up this way, with nothing stimulating her down below, but she's already come so hard and so much, and she should be able to handle a bit of torture now. Still, her back arches and her body shudders when he nibbles at her sensitive buds, she thrusts her hips in vain, searching for some type of relief, and her mouth goes dry after several choked, desperate sounds spill from her lips.

He's devouring her whole, kissing and sucking and flicking his tongue along as he makes his way across her entire chest, his little moans and pants giving away the fact that she's not the only one affected by all this.

He takes the other nipple in his mouth and sucks hard, nibbling just so, and then a white hot jolt of pleasure courses through her and shoots straight to her clit, and that's enough, she can't, she needs —-

"Need you," she cries. "Please Robin, I'm _throbbing,_ please, I need you, I missed you, I—"

"I'm here, love, I'm here," he assures, and he lowers himself between her thighs, nearly growling at the sight of her.

"No, you're — _oh!_ — want you inside me— _Ahh!_ "

"Just a second," he mutters into her sex. She loves this, how he enjoys pleasing her with his tongue, as if it's a treat for _him._ So she nods and cards fingers through his hair. He licks her hungrily, lapping up an embarrassing amount of wetness. She's soaked, aroused beyond the point of even pretending to be anything other than ridiculously horny and damn near insatiable at the moment.

He's worked up himself, making little sounds of pleasure as he eats at her, his movements no longer measured. They are sloppy, a bit uncoordinated, which only adds to her pleasure, makes it sexier, more desperate, a bit dirty and _hot._ But she imagines he's at least as pent up as she is, so it's more than understandable. And as much as she wants to come on his tongue a _third_ time, she's felt how hard he is, saw the shiver through him when she touched him, and that, _that_ is what she wants.

"Robin, that feels so good, — so so, just perfect, but _god!_ Mm, I want your cock, please—"

She hears soft cries of against her core, a light spattering of curses before he tears his mouth from her and looks up, fingers running through her folds. "Are you sure, love?"

Two fingers press and rub tight circles over her clit, and she arches her back and lets out a low wail.

"Of course — _fuck Robin —_ I'm sure, don't you want — _Mmm!_ — don't _you_ want _me_?"

He snickers for a beat, and rushes to assure, "You've no idea how bad, and for how long, but my love, you wanted to take it slow."

Oh. Right. She did say that, didn't she?

"Fuck taking it slow," she whines, grunting as his hands work her closer and closer to the edge, her hips rocking into his hand. "We've wasted enough time, I just need you, missed you so badly, and for so long, I just want to come with you inside me, want to feel you come, and…"

He swallows heavy and winces, and the pitiful look he wears stops her in the middle of her rambling. "What?" she asks, telling herself it's not that he doesn't want to, it's not that, can't be, he told her he does —

"Watching you come, tasting you, feeling you, it's been..." he sighs, "overwhelming. I'm afraid I'm a good thrust away from coming myself, and I want to do right by you, but I don't think I can…"

She smiles at him with nothing but pure devotion, and lifts a hand to caress his cheek, pouring all the love she has for him into the simple movement.

"I just want to feel close, connected to you. And I'm already... I'm so close…"

He seems to understand, judging from the smile on his face He rubs her clit for a few more moments, drawing out gasps before he repositions himself over her, taking himself in hand, and lining himself up with her core before looking into her eyes, pausing for one last confirmation.

"Robin, I need you, I need to feel you…"

His adam's apple bobs, his tongue darts out of his mouth, teeth sinking into it (she loves that, he's adorable like this) and then he thrusts inside her.

The second his tip swipes through her folds she's arching her back and moaning, and it would be embarrassing if he didn't make a similar sound. But then when he enters her, and she feels her muscles stretch deliciously around his, she bucks her hips and nearly cries out his name. His body is tense and shaking in her arms, and his lips are pressed together, _mmm-_ ing at the feel of her. He reaches down to kiss her, then, and they swallow each other's moans.

It's been over a year since she's had sex, so she's tighter than usual, muscles are stretching that haven't felt much use lately, and that has its own addition to the indulgent buzz humming through her. It's wonderful, he knows exactly what position works best, what angle, what pace to set to make her lose her mind, and he's doing it easily.

It's like coming home after being lost for so long. That's the best way to describe feeling him move inside her after all this time. Warm, comfortable, and familiar, and exactly what she's dreamt of and missed since the moment he left.

He breaks from the kiss to whisper in her ear. "God, Regina, you feel so good, darling, no idea how good you feel... wish you knew… so warm, so wet, so tight, fuck, I'm so lucky to have you. So bloody lucky. Fuck, you're close, I can feel it, feel you so close, Regina, please, please come for me, come on my cock, I'm trying, I'm trying so hard, but you feel too good…"

She palms his ass, setting a more vigorous pace, "I wanna feel you co— _oh!_ — come, Robin, I wanna feel it, I don't need, I just…"

But he's having none of those assurances, and he shifts, to hook her left leg over his shoulder, and gives her a deep thrust. She cries out in shock, and then he nods, "There we go," he whimpers, "I can, I can maybe…."

He fucks her hard then, and the angle is now somehow better, more perfect, if that were possible, and she's spouting out something to him about how much she missed and loves him, how she never wants him to leave her again, something sweet and sappy, emotion spilling out of every pore of body, tears forming where they needn't (he kisses them away, murmuring that he loves her too, he's never leaving her again) and then she feels herself falling, feeling waves of pleasure wash over her and trickle down her body, hearing his curses of thanks to the gods above as he follows right behind her, spilling into her and losing the steady pace he set in favor for a more frantic, desperate one.

He doesn't let up until those last twinges of bliss leave her body, and then he slides out of her with a little groan, falls next to her and scoops her into his arms.

"Sorry," he sighs between heavy breaths, "wanted our first time back together to be a bit... more."

"You made me come three times," she reminds, "how much more did you have in mind?"

He laughs, shakes his head and then runs fingers through her hair, swirling around the base of her neck. "Been dreaming about being inside you again forever, and in my dreams I had a bit more stamina."

"Mmmm I think you were perfect." She seals her assurance with a kiss on his chest and snuggles in closer. "Completely satisfying."

"How did we ever give that up?" he sighs.

"No idea." Regina lays a head on his chest, feeling the quickened beat of his heart as she tries to catch her breath. "Never giving it up again, though. Feels too good." She pats her palm twice into his chest adding, "Better stay hydrated, you're going to be doing a lot of this in the next few weeks."

His torso quakes underneath her in silent laughter, and she closes her eyes and gives herself a moment to just appreciate him, his body, his heart, his touch (he's tracing up and down her bicep with steady strokes of his fingers, and it's heavenly).

They lay there, wrapped up in each other, hands wandering, lips touching, too excited and lovesick to sleep, speaking in hushed tones, keeping up the gentle touches and soft kisses between words.

It's Robin who sends them down memory lane, when he reveals (still breathing a bit heavily) that this is now his favorite Christmas, even better than their first Christmas as an engaged couple. It was a nice holiday, it meant a lot to her, because she finally was celebrating a holiday where she felt like _family_ instead of a friend, or a girlfriend, so there was a sweet aspect to it. But they were a young, newly engaged couple high on the spirit of Christmas and the prospect of an infinite number of holidays to spend as a family to come, and they had expressed that excitement sexually. Repeatedly.

He recalls the memory, making love in the kitchen floor of their tiny apartment when she was in the middle of making breakfast, her half-hearted protests about ruining a very thought-out breakfast (she was making a Santa face with some well-shaped pancakes, berries, whipped cream and a smidgen of chocolate sauce). But they had a better breakfast on each other, sampling berries and whipped cream off their bodies, becoming a sticky mess and retreating to a long shower and a second round, and a third before they left for Mary Margaret's, and a fourth right before dinner in the powder room by the stairs (awkward, when David was calling around the house, looking for them, walking right by the door while Regina was coming, and she had to bite Robin's shoulder hard to stifle her moans and whimpers. She nearly broke skin even though she was biting over clothes, and Robin winced every time he had to use his shoulder for the rest of the night).

The memory is a turn on, even laughing about the awkward moments do nothing to quell the warmth spreading in her belly, and it's not long before she feels his touches more deliberate, sweeping and groping her ass while he tells her in that husky, velvety tone that nothing will ever compare to sex with her, that he missed it so badly.

It's barely been ten minutes since he came inside her, but he's urging her against him as he whispers to her how wonderful she feels and looks, biting her earlobe then smoothing over with his tongue, sending shivers down her back as he continues to mutter words of affection into her ear.

She feels an urge to reclaim him, experience every part of him all over again. And that need has her shifting and shimmying out of his embrace, going down, down, until her head is level with his groin. When her hands next touch him, he lets out a desperate sigh, followed with an "Are you sure, love?"

"Mmmhm," she assures, "I want you like this, I want you every way, every way we were together, want to feel all of it…"

She's still holding him, gripping him tightly, and her words make that vein in his cock shoot and flex, and good, it's _good,_ sends a pulsing tremble through her body. She watches him as she lowers her lips to his tip, and he's staring back at her, biting that lip, holding his body tense, but somehow still conveying all the love he has for her in his eyes.

She licks his tip, loving the soft moan that falls from his mouth the moment her tongue makes contact with his tip. She gives him a firm stroke with her hand (he sighs, softly, thighs rock into her touch) and then she takes him in her mouth, deeply. It's the result of years of practice, taking him in whole like this, (he's not small, not excessively big, but just above average in length, and _thick)_ and it pays off. He lets out a _Fuck, love_ and an _I missed your mouth._ And perhaps it's odd, but she has always enjoyed _this_. It's not exactly a shared sentiment amongst the majority, but having him, trembling and babbling words of thanks an love and gratitude as she works him with his mouth, well, it makes her feel powerful and sexy.

She slowly releases him from her mouth, her tongue skimming along his length, licking at that vein in his cock, and he lets out a low, shaky _Ahhh!_ as she does it. It's torture at this speed, she knows it is, and he does, too, given how tight his muscles are, how his fingers thread through her hair, shaking ever so slightly as he resists the instinct to push her back into him.

When he's entirely out of her mouth, she shifts downward, cups and his balls and sucks each lightly, swirling her tongue around each the way he likes. He groans, and she sees his cock jump at each movement. When she slides her mouth back up his shaft, she keeps a hand there, fondling, using a finger to touch the sensitive skin just behind, causing him to groan loudly.

"You're going to kill me," he groans, his voice low and husky, "love when you do that."

She takes him in, sucks while swirling her tongue down his shaft, teeth ever so lightly scraping on the pass up and repeats the motions. "Fuck, Regina, just— _yess_ , please don't stop, keep...can you… _yesss_ , suck like that... can you— _God_! — that's it, take it all the way, god, all the way down your mouth, _fuck_ , faster, darling, just a bit — _-mmm_!"

She hums in response to his request, her mouth still full of him. The Mmm-ing affirmation reverberates against him, heightens the feelings, and she feels him pulse inside her mouth as she quickens the pace. He's close, hips rocking in a steady motion now, unable to stop the movement in the desperate moment.

"Oh darling, I'm — _hhnngh!_ — I'm gonna…"

She hums again, granting him permission, but then she feels his hands shift to her shoulders, and he pulls at them. She looks up at him in question, and the sight of her with hollowed-out cheeks, her lips wrapped around him must do something to him, because he lets out a whimper, throws his head back, and curses. He doesn't dare look back down when he utters, "I want to come inside you again, please, want to feel you."

She's not going to deny him, and hell, every sound out of his mouth has been such a turn on, there was no way she'd be able to end this night without another orgasm. But she's going to do it _her_ way, so she takes one last hard suck and releases him with a smack of her lips, then crawls up his body, straddling him and then taking him in, fast. She's soaked, admittedly still dripping from him, mixing with her own warm wetness, and she's a bit sticky between her thighs, but it's not uncomfortable, not yet. She adjusts carefully around him, her inner muscles are still adjusting to feeling him inside her, and every thrust stretches them just a bit more.

She's enjoying the way he looks at her, like this, how his eyes rake over her unabashedly, moaning when a particular bounce has her body shake in just the right way. His hands roam over her body, from her neck to her shoulders and breasts, squeezing each peak gently before skimming down her sides, tracing the curve in her body, and then gripping hard on her hips. The firm contact is welcome, and she groans a bit at the feel of him as he guides her movements. And then his hands make their way to her ass, groping and kneading.

She lights up at his touch, nerve endings buzzing at the feel of him shifting in and out of her and his hands working on her, his eyes wandering over her, and his smell surrounding her. Her movements become hurried, frantic, jerky little bounces on top of him, angling herself so it hits just right with every thrust. It just keeps hitting and filling her in just the right spot, in just the right way, over, and over, and over, pleasure building and building with each pass over that spot, belly tight and trembling, so close, so close.. She's straddling him, sitting upright, hands bracing on his chest now, balance falling off kilter, breathing heavy, stuck in a loop crying out _Ohgodohgodohgod!_

"That's it, love, take what you need," he responds, and Christ he's sexy like that, watching her like he does, like he wants to devour her with those lustful eyes. "However you need, want you to come again for me, as many times as you can, as you like... god," he presses his thumb against her clit, searching for the right pressure, rubbing up and down, and that's good, that's very good. He must read her mind, because he's calling out "Mm, that's it, it's so good. _So good_ … god, love, wanna feel you come again..."

One deep thrust and a little swivel of her hips hits _just_ right, and she feels herself careening over the edge, her belly clenching and trembling tight, body falling forward, hands falling to brace herself as she moves from sitting to almost laying on top of him. The movement disrupts the position of his thumb on her clit, but it's okay, she's already there, thrusts up and down again and the movement brushes against her clit and that's all it takes, she's falling over, diving into the lightheaded, dizzying sensation, everything contracts and pulses as pleasure pumps through her deliciously.

His hand is on her ass, cupping and gripping the cheek, guiding her movements as she rocks out, and his body is stiff between them. She thinks he will follow her, come with her, but he doesn't, he holds strong.

She rides out the whole afterglow on his cock, enjoying every sound of ecstasy coming from his mouth, and then it all becomes a bit _too much_ and she slows, lays her head on his chest, still breathing heavy. His hands still wandering, but linger particularly on her ass, stroking and cupping while little moans fall from his lips.

She chuckles. "Getting reacquainted, are we?"

"Mmmm," Robin moans, "you're going to have to get used to me groping you at every free moment for the near future, I have lost time to make up, and… _ohhh_ " he's still hard inside her, though she's not moving, but he's still riled up, fighting instincts to slam into her, or so it seems, the way he takes a deep breath in trying to control himself, "you've got the world's greatest ass."

She chuckles into his neck, then kisses it. He shudders and moans, jerks a bit into her on instinct, hissing an apology. But it's fine, she's lost the oversensitive moment, for the most part.

"You didn't come yet," she notes, adjusting and sliding him out of her, and he groans as he loses the feeling of her warm wetness. "What do you want?"

He swallows heavy at the question, doesn't answer, but clearly has something in mind. He needs a little push to tell her, so she hovers over him, pecking at his lips, his cheek, his jawline as she whispers in the husky breath he loves, "Take control, take what you want."

He smiles then, a little boyish, devilish thing, and then he flips her so he's on top, kissing her before he backs off the bed, standing near the edge. She adjusts to move with him, knees bended on the edge, arms wrapping around his shoulders in a kiss.

"Turn around, darling," he begs between heady kisses.

She should have guessed that. This position, this is _theirs,_ it's maybe not as intimate as what they needed earlier, but it's tried and true and wonderful. So she moans in response, body already reacting to his tone. And then she is on all fours on the bed, ass presented to him, legs spread apart and ready.

"Fuck," he mutters. She turns around to catch him staring at her as if she were the best present he's ever gotten, and she can't help but feel beautiful. And it's ridiculous, to feel almost a purity in the love she has for him, when she's presented ass up on all fours to him, but it's there. God, she loves him. Missed him.

He traces a hand down her spine, firm, steady, smooth, and and her nerve endings tingle and pop at the familiar touch. When he reaches the dip in the small of her back, he groans, and then his movements slow as he pulls that hand across the swell of her ass, cupping at patting lightly.

"Jesus" he groans, "better than I remembered, somehow."

He brings a hand around and swipes through her folds, she's still wet, still ready, but he slides a finger inside her, making sure she feels ready, working slowly on her, until she's rocking into the touch, until he can hear soft gasps.

"Ready, love?"

"Can't you — _ahh!_ – tell?"

"Just making sure, I'm—I'm a little worked up, not sure I can be gentle." His voice has that edge of insecurity, of worry, which is pure nonsense, this position is not made for gentle touches and soft, slow movements.

"Don't want you to be gentle," she assures, reveling in his sigh of relief.

And then she feels the tip of him touching, seeking entrance, before he moves her legs a bit (this guest bed is a bit shorter than their bed at home, and she has her legs bent at too low an angle it seems).Then he's adjusting, and slides in her slowly, letting out a _Fuck, you feel amazing_

God, this is a good position. She wasn't at all too close, wasn't sure she can even work up to anything spectacular, but this position has him hitting in her deep and hard and just right, and there's something sensual about being opened to him, the way she is, and every time she turns her head to see him —- to see _them —_ the visual is indescribably sexy, albeit lewd and hinging on poor taste, and she feels naughty and nice in all the right ways. It's her _husband,_ after all, that's pounding into her, grunting and moaning, his hands smacking the swell of her cheeks and spilling curses at the sound it makes. He's hers, and they are coming together again, fixing what they thought was irreparably damaged just hours ago. So yes, it's a bit dirty, (especially to be doing in the guest room of Robin's sister's house in the early hours of Christmas morning) but there's something quite unadulterated about this whole sexcapade.

He has one hand anchored at her hip, the other roams to touch bare skin, is skimming up her legs now, up and down soft touches that cause goosebumps to flare and she's pushing back into him, unable to stay still for him (and from the sound of him, he is quite pleased with that, can't hold back telling her how sexy she is, how long he's wanted to see her like this, how often he's pictured it). When his hand makes its way back to her ass and gives her a light swat, she turns to face him and breathes, "Harder."

He moans at that, and then whispers, "We have to be quiet, love," and she nods vigorously, reaches at a throw pillow just in case she needs to scream into something and he sighs, swatting harder at her. It's enough to cause a sharp, hot jolt of pleasure mixed with pain, has her stifling a moan in the back of her throat and curling her hands into fists, has enough to have her whining "More," and rocking her hips more desperately now, fighting for a faster pace, she needs it faster, harder. She wants fast, and hard and rough, doesn't give a damn that she's bent over some lace comforter at fucking Mary Margaret's house, doesn't care if the whole household wakes as long as Roland and Henry sleep through it, she's _owed_ this, and she's going to take it, take what she needs.

Robin smacks her harder, and they both moan together, this time, hers is a bit of a high pitched, whiny, stifled shout (she buries her head into the pillow just in time), his a low, guttural thing that goes straight to her clit, and suddenly she's in overdrive. She's come and come and come tonight, and it's somehow only served to turn her on further, make her want to seek pleasure again and again.

His hand is smoothing over where there now is surely a red mark, but then fingers find their way between her legs, stroking lightly between where they are joined and her _other_ opening. Sensitive skin lights on fire, every touch is acute, hypersensitive. And when his finger touches just there, by her entrance, the feeling is so positively electric she finds herself arching her back and moaning.

"Regina, god, you are beautiful," he says, a finger still tracing around the sensitive skin, "so so perfect, everywhere."

His finger is firm, pressing, but not enough to push in, and suddenly, she just wants to feel close to him _this_ way again, in the way that she has only shared with him. She loses herself thinking about that, as riled as she is, of having dirty, raunchy anal sex in pure-as-snow Mary Margaret's home, and it thrills her, has her pulsing with desire.

So she turns back to look at him, barely able to focus her eyes on him, and asks "Do you want to - _mm!_ — want to fuck my ass?"

Robin throws his head back, is looking at the ceiling, letting out a long, whispered _Fuucckkkkk!_ and when he looks back at her, his face looks almost screwed in pain. "God yes," he groans, "but love, _ahh!_ — we don't have what we need — _god, you're sexy_ — to make it good."

"I'm soaked, maybe we don't need it," she offers, because maybe they don't, it's possible, she wants it so badly she doesn't care, anyway. Perhaps it would be painful at first, but then it would feel good, and it's just —

"Won't risk hurting you," he grunts, "as soon as I next have you alone, though — _fuck, I love you_ — I'm going to fuck you so hard, every way you want."

"Now," she attempts to order, but her voice is shaking and weak, she's _close,_ she's going to come soon, her knees are already quivering.

"Darling, I can't, I won't -f _uck!_ — won't be gentle," he moans, "too close, can't control myself. later, please? Please later." But his finger works a way inside her, and though it's not what she wants, the feeling is enough to satiate that desire ever so much. And that will do.

He works her quicker and she feels her muscles tightening and convulsing, feels herself about to dip over yet _again_ (this isn't a record amount in one night, but it's sure as hell close). She manages to turn around and look at him through bleary eyes and request "Fuck me _harder,_ Robin," and he does, picks up the pace and fucks hard, and deep, spewing curses and compliments in equal measure, his words fueling her own desire.

"Are you going to come?" he asks breathlessly, and then he loses himself, starting to babble (for himself as much as for her) "Come on my cock and fingers, _fuck_ , i want to feel you coming around me again, love that feeling, nothing like it, just let go, that's it, darling, you're so close, so wet, I feel it… please, darling, not gonna last much longer, I need you..."

She flies over that peak, as that dizzying, almost weightless freeing feeling takes over, and then there's that rush of pleasure exploding, warming and satisfying her at last.

She feels him join her almost immediately. He's been waiting, holding back for her for quite some time, and it's evident in the way her curses and spits out _Thank Christ_ before jerky movements follow, and he spills into her with a cry of her name.

They fall into bed together. She cannot help but laugh, doesn't know why, there's nothing funny about this, but she feels light, punch drunk on pleasure, and it bubbles through in a soft little giggle that the rest of the world doesn't get to hear. The light little laughter that only comes out in intimate moments with Robin.

He's peppering soft kisses in her hairline and forehead. It's soothing, and suddenly she's aware of how _tired_ she is, and how much she's looking forward to sleeping in his arms. God, she's missed sharing a bed with him, just to sleep, just to be held or hold him when she craved it. She wants him in bed with her every night from now on, but they haven't discussed that, have they?

"What do you want to do after this?" she asks after a few minutes, when the haze of sleepiness has almost taken over.

"Sleep, open presents with Roland, have too much to eat for breakfast. Then..." Robin sighs, and it seems he catches on to her meaning, "I know we still have things to work through, I'd understand if you didn't want me back in the house right away, love. And if you want to not tell Roland—"

"No," she says firmly. "No. We have plenty to work on, but this year has convinced me nothing is worth separating from you. We're going to work, aren't we?"

He squeezes her tight and inhales a whiff of her hair. "Definitely."

"I just want you home with us," she sighs, wrapping arms around him tight, "I don't care if it's stupid or too early. I'm sure, and —"

"I'm sure, too."

She's pressed into his chest, cannot see him, but knows he's smiling, and it warms her heart.

"You are the best thing that has ever happened to me or will ever happen to me," he says with a sincerity that makes her shake against him. "Marrying you was the best decision I ever made, and I'm not going to lose you again. Not without a fight."

She snuggles into him further, buries her head into his chest. "I love you. We won't lose one another again." She presses a kiss into his chest and settles down. "There will be fights, though. We are stubborn people."

"Mm," Robin agrees. "We'll always make up, though."

"Yes," she smiles, caressing the sweat sheened skin of his torso. "We are quite good at that."

.::.

They only get in a couple of hours of sleep before Roland wakes, excited to open the gifts from _Santa_ that have been left under the tree. It's heaven to watch their son tear into each gift with such enthusiasm, especially while they are sitting next to each other, hands laced in one another's, trading whispered words of affection and love for their family. It's beautiful, and not even Killian's request that they _Get a room,_ or Mary Margaret's awkward request that they make sure they put the sheets they "slept in" in the washer before they leave could throw her out of the moment.

Roland, for his part, is overjoyed with each present, but lets out the most excited shriek when Regina tells him that Daddy is going to live with them from now on, and he can see them both every day.

As Regina is sandwiched between both of her boys, fighting to keep them from taking sips of her hot chocolate, in a room full of those that might not be related to her by blood, but are undeniably her family, she cannot help the sense of joy that washes over her.

She couldn't have hoped for a more perfect Christmas.


	2. Robin's Perspective: Part 1

**A/N: This is part 1 of a 2-3 chapter addendum from Robin's perspective. It starts on Thanksgiving, 2015, the day they broke up. And it ends the Fourth of July weekend. Thanks to Bea for betaing (except i added stuff to the end so those mistakes are on me) and Jen, Hannah, Brooke, and Hollie for the cheerleading and support. I love you guys.**

* * *

The moment he sees that car, parked precariously, unforgivingly in front of their driveway, he knows they are in for a fight.

It has been a lovely holiday until now. His morning had started off with Regina stroking him gently with her hand, kissing and nibling his ear and whispering _Happy Thanksgiving_ in that sultry, sexy tone. It is _their_ day, afterall. They had met on Thanksgiving, and he'd proposed to her years later on the same holiday. It was like their own Valentine's Day, and the smell of roasted turkey and herby, sage soaked potatoes, and sweet, cinnamon pumpkin spice would always remind him of falling in love with Regina.

His hands had wandered over her naked body (he thinks she slept with clothes on, and he loves the thought of her having woken up and quietly removed her clothes just so she could seduce him), tracing over curves, squeezing every delicious swell. It's been a decade, a solid ten years of a very active and very creative sex for them, yet she never seems bored, still responds to his touch,still gasps and cries out when he flicks his tongue against her nipple just so, still rocks her body desperately against his mouth when he's between her legs, still grips and pulls at his hair when she's close to release. And sometimes, even with a young, soon-be-very-awake toddler, Regina will even let out those soft curses, whispering these tantalizing things under her breath...

" _I want you," she rasps, her voice hoarse, from sleep, maybe, but she's just come down from a rather intense orgasm, one that he thinks, ordinarily, would have her shouting until her voice was thick and gravelly, like this. Instead she bites into a pillow, grunts and whines as he eats her, two fingers pumping just the way she likes until she begins to flutter around his fingers, until he feels the muscle spasms contracting around him, and looks up at her and sees that little satisfied smile he absolutely adores._

 _But she wants him again, and he won't deny her. He makes quick work of positioning himself over her, grabbing his cock and thrusting it inside her. She's had an unusually long orgasm, is still pulsing from it, those delicious little aftershocks she has that he loves to feel, but it catches him off guard a bit, has him moaning a bit earlier than is probably acceptable._

 _He searches her eyes for approval, because if she's still coming down, it's likely she's hyper sensitive, and perhaps she needs a moment. But she just grabs a palm full of his ass with each hand and whispers "I need you to fuck me so bad, Robin."_

 _And then he's thrusting in her hard and fast while she shakes underneath him, barely down from one peak until she's steadily climbing a second, soft sighs turning into deep groans._

" _Love your cock," she gasps, at that moment where she's close enough to lose all sense of propriety. "Feels so good."_

" _Yeah?" he moans back, "You going to — oh fuck, love — come for me again?"_

 _She nods, biting her lip as she rocks into him harder, "Close", she whines, "so close."_

 _He can only moan in response, because she's wet, so wet, and tight, and warm, and he can feel her starting to twitch just a bit, legs starting to quake, fingernails digging into his back, holding him there._

" _God you really needed this," he groans._

 _It's not that so much time has passed since their last moment, it's only been four days — by married people standards, their sex life is absurdly active. But he flirted with her heavily yesterday, knowing it would make this moment — their little Thanksgiving ritual — even sweeter. He had kissed her yesterday, when she stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped tightly around her body as she'd scurried to the closet to gather clothes to change into, hair still shedding droplets of warm water. And then he had taken her in his arms, letting his fingers coast up and down her shoulders, before unwrapping that bloody towel, letting out a loud, sinful moan as he did so._

" _You're wet," he had teased, "Let me dry you off."_

 _He'd used the towel to dry her glistening, wet skin, was gentle and soothing as he rubbed each inch of her, enough to have been stimulating. And based on how she had gasped and sighed, it had worked. But they didn't have time yesterday to do anything about it, to exchange anything other than slight kisses and cute texts. That evening, as she prepared the sides to bring to Mary Margaret's the next day, he gave her ass a subtle squeeze, traded light kisses and hugs, but by the time she had finished in the kitchen, she had collapsed next to him, exhausted and begging for sleep._

 _Thus the need to satisfy each other this morning._

" _Mmm, need it so badly," she confirms, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Gonna come so hard on your cock — mm—- just like that, please, iIm, I'm gonna—"_

 _He feels the way her walls pulse and tighten around him in different places, a haphazard, untempered rhythm that he loves. Her face screws into that beautiful look of ecstasy, the sight of it overpowering._

 _He keeps at it, closer now, riding out her orgasm, and as the last soft quakes leave her body, she smiles and lifts her head up to whisper in his ear, "I want you to come in my mouth."_

 _It's rare that she says something like that, particularly after an orgasm, but the sound of the request is pure heaven to him, so for once, Robin doesn't loath the thought of unsheathing from her when he's this close. He rolls over onto his back, and lets her lead. Regina scoots down between his legs, flashing him a devilish look before she leans in and licks the tip of him, moaning deliciously._

 _She takes him in deep, swallowing all of him. When he cannot help but buck his hips at a particularly incredible movement of her tongue, she hums her approval, letting him thrust deep into her mouth._

 _He can't control himself after that, and as much as he would like to draw it out, he can't, she's too amazing with her mouth, and when the humming sound she makes vibrates around him, Robin doesn't last more than a few strokes. He spills down her throat, and it feels so good, and each swallow as he comes just intensifies the shivering, hot, overwhelming pleasure._

 _She collapses next to him with that satisfied smile, cuddling into him and pressing a kiss on his chest, and chuckling lightly at his struggle to catch his breath._

" _I love you," she whispers._

 _He doesn't say it back. He's sleepy and they both want to drift off for a few moments before Roland wakes. She knows how he feels, anyway._

When he looks back over this morning, which he does often, he wishes he had lasted longer. Wishes he had delayed the pleasure of coming in her mouth just a bit.

Wishes most of all he had told her he loved her that one last time.

But then again, he didn't know this would be the last time he was with his wife in over a year.

.::.

The rest of Thanksgiving goes wonderfully. They are able to take a quick nap, shower together, and change before they need to wake up a very sleepy Roland, dress him in a comfortable, sharp looking sweater and button down shirt and shuffle off to the holiday feast.

It had all been grand, but it was a bit unseasonably cool, and it had gotten late, and now they have a sleeping toddler in their backseat. And that would not be a problem, if they had a place to park. But that god damned car has blocked their driveway, and they are off to find on-street parking at 10 PM on Thanksgiving.

And he knows what she's going to say about it, can feel the fight coursing and churning inside her. He grits his teeth and waits for her to say it. He won't be the one to bring it up first.

"Just take this spot," she grimaces from the seat next to him.

"I can find something closer," Robin assures, because they are eight blocks from home, it's freezing out, and Roland is sleeping, and there's a trunk full of leftovers to take home, too, and it's not that bad, they can find a closer place to park, it's not that bad, he always finds a —

"I don't want to spend another 25 minutes finding a place two blocks closer. Just park here."

And well, fine. He sighs, and parks. The moment he gets out of the car he realizes it was a mistake. He should have driven her to the door, told her to get out, and let him park.

Unfortunately she already has a sleeping toddler in her arms, wobbling on frozen ground in precarious heels, and he has a bag of leftovers and a diaper bag slung over his arm when he realizes this mistake.

On the third block they see some college kids huddled together on the corner. They rush away when they see Regina and Robin approaching, but the smell of their smoke wafts into his nose, and he cringes. Marijuana. What perfect timing.

He sees her slip just then and rushes to steady her with his hand. "Careful, love." he whispers.

She shoots him back an angry glare. Yet, her voice is calm and steady when she says "Thank you, Robin."

This is for Roland's benefit — even though he's sleeping, she won't ever fight with Robin if that little boy could possibly overhear. There are things that she's lived through that he knows she doesn't like to speak of, he knows that. She's shared many of them little by little, handing over small pieces to the puzzle that is her past. And this rule — the always being respectful and sweet to one another in front of Roland rule — this one opened a door to a sea of insecurities and painful childhood memories. So as much as he wants to shout at her to just get it over with and speak her peace, he won't say a word.

She's right. Roland comes first.

On the fifth block he wakes up with a little cry and a whine of _Momma, I'm cold_ and she hands him mittens, clings tightly to him, and soothes _Just a few more blocks, baby._

They walk together, comforting Roland, continuing to do so until he's in bed and soundly asleep.

Robin walks down the stairs to see Regina putting away leftovers. But she's put a pot of coffee on, and yes, there will be a talk. It's the moment he's been dreading.

"Robin, we _have_ to move." She says, calmly, but her voice is on the edge of anger and frustration. She's ready to fight for this, and it's a shame, because this is a topic where he feels quite strongly, too.

"One idiot blocks the driveway and suddenly this is an uninhabitable living environment," he groans, "be more dramatic."

"It's not just that and you know it." Regina says, an eyebrow raised, "Roland has no space here, he has no backyard. The neighborhood is changing, it's not for children anymore—"

"Oh, come on. Some college kids are smoking pot, it's hardly a fucking gang territory. And you know how rare it is for that to happen, anyway." He points out.

"Why can't we just move to where Roland has a yard, and —"

"He has a park," he argues, "one where a lot of children can play. I guess the children are ethnic, and from different income levels, and maybe _that_ is a problem for you, but…" The words sound as bitter and sour as they taste.

"Don't give me that shit," Regina says with a roll of her eyes, "I don't have a problem with the other children, I have a problem with the fact that a group of college kids doesn't mesh well with families. They park in front of driveways. They smoke pot in parks and on the street, they are up late, they get noise complaints, and it's simply not a good environment for Roland."

"Oh please, this could be the perfect neighborhood and you'd want to move. I know what this is about, Regina. It's about moving him to a pretty little sheltered suburb like your mother would want, and then we could send him off to some prestigious preschool made for kings, or god knows what, and then before we know it he'll be 18 and have absolutely no idea what the real world is like."

"I want him to have his _best shot._ " She argues again (this is a tired refrain). "Prep schools and nice homes are apart of that."

"Oh, I'm familiar with that argument," Robin scoffs. "It is the exact one my father made to get my mother to agree to shipping me off to England, and we all know how _that_ turned out. You act like I've been in public school in America my whole life, you forget I'm familiar with this world you are so enchanted with. Yes, the prep school and the royal fucking neighborhood, that was worth all the pain and abuse I had to suffer, right? I should appreciate those years more than the years I spent free from all of that?"

"You had a rough time because your father was a mean, abusive addict, your living and school situation had nothing to do with it. In fact I'm betting it was the only bright spot," Regina points out, "Roland shouldn't have the same experience as you unless you are worried you are going to wake up and become Robert."

Robin's teeth clench, hands form into fists, how _dare_ she imply that he could ever become his horrible father? "The point is if it hadn't have been for this shotty prep school nonsense, I would have been spared from all of that pain, sure we had little money and the school I attended didn't have skiing vacations or spring break trips to Paris, but my life when I was removed from that world was so _much_ better."

"And think of how much better it would be if you had proper education _and_ a stable family," she shoots back. "Let's not blame our fucked up childhoods on the one thing our parents did _right."_

He's angry, annoyed and just _done_ with this conversation. He's not losing this argument, though, not when the idea of Roland in school with snobby, uptight entitled brats physically revolts him.

"I'm not going to cave on this, Regina," Robin says sternly, "this is it. We stay in the city. We're not bubble wrapping our child in suburban bullshit."

"You cannot just put your foot down on this issue and refuse to hear any reason," Regina argues, "I'm not caving either, and I know very well where staying in this environment will lead, and you do as well. I'm not about to apologize for protecting Roland from this—"

"God, is this Cora I'm speaking to? You know, I married _you_ hoping you had learned enough from living with Cora to never turn into her, but from this light you are the spitting image. You're just a little spoiled brat who had everything handed to her and wants to do the same to our son. It didn't make you happy, Regina, and it won't make Roland happy either. You're just going to make him miserable."

He rushes towards her, yelling, encroaching just a bit in her face. He's gone too far, and he realizes it, because her face falls for a split second, shatters into a pained expression before the cloak of protectiveness goes back up, and her face settles into that blank, heartless expression.

"What are you going to do to me, Robin?" she asks. She's not scared, she's taunting him, pushing at that weak spot. "You just charged at me like a bull, your hands are in fists already. Speaking of people turning into their parents, god, you're one split second away from— "

"I would _never_ hurt you and you know it!" he growls.

"I don't know that. I don't know anything anymore. Not when you've pushed into my space like this, I wonder if I have to worry about _you_ with Roland."

"Fucking take it back," he orders, knowing what she's implying. This has officially gone too far. He had no idea how it got to here, how it went from zero to twenty, but they are stubborn, competitive people, and it seems they're now competing on who can hurt who the most.

"I can't," she says flatly, "Because I don't even recognize you. I don't know if I even trust you anymore, I don't know if I even _love_ you anymore."

The words cut and gnaw at him, but he's stubborn and angry and not about to lose this battle. "I'm glad you finally said it," he snarls, "the woman I loved left a long time ago, and I have been trying to see her again, but I can't. I'm through pretending. I don't love you anymore, either."

There's a few seconds where he is eager to see pain in her eyes, hoping she hurts as badly as he is.

"Do you mean that?" she asks. Her voice doesn't falter, doesn't crack. She's not angry anymore, she's reached this eery calm state that can scare him at times.

"Yes," he answers, anger still coursing through his veins, vibrating through his nerves, buzzing and screaming for him to hide his wounds and strike back in full force.

She sighs and nods her head. "Me too." She gets out coffee mugs - one ceramic and one "to-go" cup with a lid. And then she pours them silently, adding cream and sugar, while he wonders what her next move is.

"Coffee just the way you like it." Regina seals the lid to the travel mug and hands it to him gingerly. "Consider it my parting gift to you. Now leave."

"What?" he asks, because another rule she had was they never leave each other in the middle of a fight, no going to bed angry, no running off in a rage

"These last few months have been so difficult, and you know why? Because we're living together but neither of us are in love anymore. And I know you're probably still here because you think it's best for Roland. But I've lived that, and it can actually be worse, Robin. It's easier for Roland and for us both if we just move on."

He's bitter and he's angry and behaving like a childish moron when he mutters, "If you hate this house so much, why aren't _you_ the one leaving?"He doesn't quite intend her to hear, but when he looks up, it's clear she has anyway. And she looks...well, hurt, and a bit tense. "Regina…"

"You're right," she says, dismissing his half-hearted apology with a wave of her hand, "I should be the one to leave. But I'm the one who gets Roland ready every morning, and I thought I should be with him now. Plus, you work tomorrow and I'm home with Roland, so it seemed easier. But it's fine, I can wake him up now and—"

"No, don't," he grumbles, "you're right. I'll leave."

She doesn't try to stop him, not even when he gathers an overnight bag and a garment bag and places a generous amount of clothing in there. He's waiting for her to cave, to realize he's serious about this, to tell him she didn't mean it, to apologize and take him back. But she doesn't do anything but pop an Excedrin and draw herself a bath.

How the fuck did it get like this?

He waits for her to call the entire drive to Killian's. He waits up for her call while he and Killian watch _Die Hard_ and drink beer.

He's waiting for her to call and tell him to come home until the sun comes up.

Regina never calls. Instead she sends a text with a very fair, evenly split custody arrangement for Roland. Oh, he wishes it were vindictive, just a bit petty, he wishes, then he could say she wrote it in anger, that things would blow over.

But it's perfectly civil.

And when he reads the text, he realizes that maybe this wasn't just a fight filled with angry words she didn't mean.

.

.::.

She gives him ten days. Ten days before she's walking through Killian's front door and smacking him on the head before grabbing his phone from the table and handing it to him.

"Call her and apologize," Emma orders. "Now. You two are being idiots."

"Do you know what she said to me?" Robin asked, "Because an apology isn't going to fix things, and I'm not the only one who owes an apology here."

"Yeah, I know, Regina gave me the blow-by-blow."

Robin rolls his eyes, "I'm sure it was very biased against me. Trying to turn my own sister against me, I swear…."

"She can't lie to me, you jackass. And she'd never do that. I don't know how you somehow forgot what type of person she is, but Regina isn't going to try to turn family against family. She was completely honest. Call her."

"What good will an apology do? She doesn't love me."

"Sure she does."

"Did she tell you that? Because she told me otherwise. In words and in action."

Emma inhales sharply and and purses her lips. She's losing her patience with him, he knows. "She didn't exactly tell me that she loves you in those _words,_ but…"

"I know you think you know Regina better, but she's my _wife_. She let it slip, she doesn't love—"

"Call her. This whole thing is ridiculous. You two are stupid in love with one another and you damn well know it." He shakes his head in silent refusal til she adds, "If not for you, for Roland's sake. I know he's young, but kids are perceptive. If you guys are both still angry at one another, he's going to pick up on it. No matter how much you pretend to be okay."

And well, she has a point. So he picks up the phone and dials.

Regina answers with a certain amount of wariness, as if she's not sure what to expect. It kills him, for a second, that she doesn't sound glad to hear from him, that her voice is filled with suspicion and discomfort.

"Regina…" he breathes, "I,uh, I wanted to tell you, despite what I said, I do trust you with Roland, I don't think you are a bad mum," he starts off, determined to apologize and correct everything that he said that was wrong, bit by bit.

"I figured," she says matter of factly, "when you didn't protest the custody arrangement I assumed you had decided I could be trusted to be alone with him." She pauses for a beat, and then adds a wary, "Obviously I trust you, too. We still have to raise Roland together. We need to at least trust one another to always have his best interest at heart and to take good care of him, even if that's the only thing we trust each other for anymore." She says the last words a bit over a whisper, a confession.

All his muscles relax, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. "And Regina, and about us—"

"I'm not interested in talking about us," she says, her voice suddenly clipped and abrupt. "Sorry, I just want to focus on Roland right now. And I'm looking at apartments. I'll move out as soon as I can."

"No, no stay there," he nearly shouts, and he _wants_ to tell her she should stay because it's her home and he wants her comfortable, because he loves her to death and he won't have her leaving all that they built just because he is set on destroying it. He wants her to stay because then it will seem so _final_ , and he's not ready for them to be over.

He wants to say all of this, but he's hurt and angry and protecting himself from her pity, from having to hear that he has to move on, because she has. Truth be told, he's livid at her at the moment, for not even giving him a chance to breathe life into their relationship. For not even being willing to discuss this like _mature adults_. So he adds, "I can stay with Killian. You don't have any friends willing to put you and Roland up, after all. I have plenty of options between my friends and _my family_. It is cheaper to just do this."

He hears her startled breath of air, and then "I don't know if a dig about my lack of friends was necessary," she sighs.

"I didn't mean it that way," he offers, but they both know it's a lie, so it's not any surprise when he adds, "but it is the truth, isn't it?"

"Right. Well. Obviously this is for the best," she sighs, "we can't even have a simple conversation."

"Regina, I—"

"Don't. I am done fighting with you, Robin." Her tone is at that warning level, and if he pushes too hard, she's going to blow up. "Thank you for letting me stay in the house for the time being. We obviously need to work out something more permanent, but I'm not ready to discuss it now, definitely not on the phone. I want to keep this... civil. For Roland. But maybe for a while I am just going to have to insist we keep communication through texts. Roland will be up from his nap soon. Goodbye, Robin."

"But Regina—"

The phone line goes dead. He looks at Emma, and does a double take when he sees how angry she is.

"What the fuck was that?" She asks, smacking his head again. She catches his ear, and he winces in pain, frowning back at her.

"She won't even let me talk to her about us," he defends, jaw locked defiantly. "Don't blame me, blame _her."_

Emma scowls and shakes her head. "You were being an ass. All you had to do was start the conversation with a _Regina, I still love you._ Instead you remind her how alone she is in this thing. She feels she can't talk to me or Mary Margaret about it, because we are _your_ sisters, and—"

"She can't," Robin insists, "You are my sister. If she wanted to continue to trash boyfriends and spouses with you she should have married someone else."

"Oh, she can fucking bitch to me about you all she wants," Emma bites back. "Actually, right now I would _love_ a bitch session about you, I probably have more to complain about than she ever would. Thing is, Robin, she won't do it. She's feeling alone and worried she's going to lose me and Mary Margaret, and you practically taunted her about it."

"She broke my heart," he responds, scowling angrily.

"Well, maybe your heart deserves to get broken," Emma responds. "Because you know Regina as well as I do—" he raises a finger to protest, and to settle his complaint she adds "maybe better, fine. You know how undeserving of love she thinks she is. You know how she's always battling that feeling of inadequacy. You took it too far. And you didn't even mean it. I can tell you didn't."

"She's not going to listen to me," he sighs, "she's angry. She will think anything out of my mouth is a lie."

"But you want to work on this?"

"Yes," he admits, with a groan, "of course I do, she's the mother of my child. She's…" He frowns, searching for the right words to say. "I want her to come back because she wants to, not because of Roland, or because she thinks she owes it to me. I want her to want me. I want her to love me. And I want to be sure…"

"Then give her some space. Let her cool down. Let her know you love her. Seriously, Robin. She needs to hear it. Swallow your pride and say it. She's gonna make her way back to you. She just needs to know she's welcome."

He takes a deep breath and blows out air. "I fucked up. I just— I get so angry, and I lose sight of—"

"I know, Robin, I know. You just need to take a breather too. You can't lash out, or you're going to lose her."

His sister's blunt words knock the breath out of him, has him fighting back tears. But all he can say is a simple "Shit."

"Give it time. You can still fix this."

Emma leaves the apartment with a promise that _this_ will be her last interference with their love life. It's not, but she tries.

The next few weeks are miserable. They trade pictures of their son every night, but she ignores any attempt at friendly conversation. He does what he can, pays her little compliments, texts her what Roland has done that reminds him of her, thanks her for being a wonderful mother, asks if he can help shovel the walk and driveway when it snows...anything just to hear back from her. He feels so far away from her, all he wants is to somehow make her happy. So when she asks for Roland for Christmas, he tells her to do whatever she wants, whatever will make her happy.

She's terribly thankful to him. Her words cut like knives to the heart, and he holds out hope she will change her mind last minute and return to him, show up at Mary Margaret's and kiss him, and hug him, and tell him they can forget the nightmare of the past month.

But on Christmas Eve he gets a picture of her mother's Christmas tree, and a smiling Roland under it, and he can entertain those fantasies no longer.

He remembers Emma's advice too late. But he has nothing to lose. He texts her something simple that evening.

 _I know this last month has been awful, Regina, and we've hurt each other. But god, I love you. I will always love you. Please know that._

He passes out, the emotion of the day draining the life out of him in a way he couldn't imagine. and wakes up to her new texts — pictures of roland on Christmas morning, pictures that make his chest constrict because his son is opening presents and he's not there to share it. He sees her simple _I'll always love you too, Robin_ and he hopes it means Emma is right, and she will find her way back to him.

But when she reveals she still has plans to spend New Year's Day up with her insufferable mother, he believes it's finally over. And the holidays are merry and bright but when you are without the people you love they are miserable, dull and bland, and all you want to do is drink like the other wounded souls trying to make it through the night.

And that's how he finds Marian at a bar on December 26th, revealing they once again have something in common.

Heartbreak.

Oh, her situation is bad. Keith hit her, he _beat_ her, bruised her body, and Robin wants to kill him. He's fairly certain Killian and John would at least be up for taking a baseball bat to the guy's knees. Marian and Robin were only briefly in love, but she is a wonderful person, through and through, and the fact that anyone would take advantage of her belief in the goodness in everyone, well, it angers him to no end.

Marian is upset at herself, because she still loves him. It's pathetic, she says, she still feels _his_ even though she shouldn't. She hates it.

Robin opens up about Regina, then.

"I wanted to believe she was just angry, that it would blow over, but she's gone, won't even answer the phone when I call, and I just…"

"You still love her, too," Marian observes, sipping her whiskey slowly.

"Of course I do," he sighs, "told her so two days ago. In a text. And she texted me back an emotionless _I love you_ , but nothing changed. I lost her."

"Maybe not," Marian frowns. "Your problems are not real problems." She must hear how condescending that sounds, because she snickers into her drink. Robin cracks a smile for the first time in forever. "I mean, I'm getting slugged in the eye, and defending myself with mixing bowls and spatulas," she reminds, a call back to the horrifying story she had shared earlier about a fight she had with Keith in their kitchen, "Everything seems fixable by comparison."

It feels good for her to laugh about it, she says, she needs to, so he laughs with her.

"What are you doing for New Year's Eve?" she asks, looking at him with daring, bold eyes. "Want to go to the 'Swinging Singles' event? it promises to be as depressing as it is festive." She wags her eyebrows, shrugging at him as if to say _Come on, why not?_

"I don't think I'm ready for that," he admits. "I have no desire to even think about another woman."

"But the alternative is spending New Year's with couples that will only remind us of what we lost. And spending it alone and sad, which… I don't know about you, but after Christmas, I really can't bear the thought of another holiday moping around, wallowing in loneliness."

The uncertainty must show through his face, he supposes, because he hears her assuring him, "This isn't about hooking up with some drunken recent graduate, it's just about forcing each other out. It feels good to smile, I haven't done a lot of that lately, Robin."

He hasn't either. So he agrees.

.::.

New Year's Day's sunlight hits him like a sledgehammer. It hurts, physically hurts, the light in this room, shining through curtains that do little to darken anything. Not like the curtains in his _home_. Or former home.

He turns and sees Marian, bare and sleeping soundly beside him. She's on top of covers, laying on her stomach, ass upright and on display. There was a time when he would knead and grope and kiss it, where he'd wake her and want to take her just like that.

But now he desperately looks for something to cover her. She's sleeping on top of the comforter and sheets (he's underneath them, somehow) but there's a small blanket at the foot of the bed that isn't trapped under her. So he grabs at it and awkwardly drapes it over her body, desperate to cover her up, because he is feeling so sick, so disgusted at the sight of her, and it's not because of her, no, that's not what has him nearly vomiting on the floor. It's partially all they drank last night, but no, that's not it either.

He's sick because he realizes that last night wasn't a nightmare. It happened. It's all a bit of a blur but it's coming back to him. And he doesn't want to wake Marian, but this is the moment, right here, the moment where he feels a month's worth of withheld emotion bubbling to surface.

He's done being angry, done denying that things are _really_ over, and well, he just did something self destructive and stupid last night, and the self loathing and depression is settling in, pumping through his blood like heroin, and he's struggling not to scream and cry as memories of last night go through his mind.

" _I got you two more drinks from the open bar!" Marian says, her voice trying to mimic excitement, trying to be cheery, but she's as miserable as he is, he can tell._

" _Not so sure this is helping," he mutters, "I'm just not in a good mood, Marian. I'm so sorry. I'm terrible company."_

" _Well, we paid for open bar so whether it's helping or not, we are getting our money's worth," she warns. "Come on, give this an honest chance. I look cute and the bartender is giving me strong pours. Here."_

 _It's a double Jack and coke, not his style, but it'll do. It's strong as shit — Marian was right. He smiles at her as he sips. "Strong indeed."_

" _Told ya," she says with a forced smile._

" _So feeling a love connection with this bartender?" Robin asks, grateful to give his mind a distraction from Regina and Roland._

 _Marian shakes her head and makes a face. "No, no, no…". She takes a deep breath in, and sips her own drink (7 and 7, a horrid thing, but very Marian). "He's nice, seems to like me, and I want to, Robin, I just want to do this, I should. I owe Keith nothing. And yet... it just feels… wrong."_

There are more flashes, drinks with her, meeting another group of singles, taking shots, seeing Mariah hit it off with a good looking fellow, a perfect goodnight kiss companion. Robin himself chatting with a guy and three girls, fretting about whether he will be expected to kiss them at midnight and hoping he won't. He remembers the way his tongue is already swollen and numb from the over indulgence in sweet cheap drinks. God, he was so far gone, he wouldn't wish himself on his worst enemy.

Then he remembers that a few minutes before midnight, Marian found her way back to him.

" _What happened to mister Three Piece Suit?" he slurs with a wink. She shrugs and leans into him and confesses something that breaks his heart._

 _She whispers, "Keith fucked me up, I can't get close to anyone. He won."_

 _She tries to shift into the conversation between the people Robin has been talking to, but frankly he doesn't want to be there anyway. So he excuses himself and places a gentle hand on the small of her back, guiding her somewhere they can talk. The far corner of the club._

" _Keith didn't win," he insists, his mind is addled but in that part he feels emphatic. "You just aren't ready. It'll come, Marian, it was a shit relationship but you have to grieve it, have to get over it."_

" _He made me feel like he owned me," she explains, shaking from drink and anger. "Said he'd kill me if he saw me with another man, I told myself it was just his mood swings, thought there was good in him, I tried Robin, but now…"_

 _There are tears in her eyes, angry or sad or perhaps both, and she's so fucking honest right now he can't stand it. "I keep thinking that it's wrong to be with anyone but HIM. He did this to me."_

" _You'll get past it, I swear," Robin assures._

" _I just want to…" she suddenly looks determined. "And even if I push through and tried to get past feeling like property, I'm fucking scared of men now. Me, Robin. Fuck." She looks disgusted with herself and he cannot think of what to say, so he draws her into a hug._

" _If it helps, I can't fucking think of anyone but Regina at the moment," he admits, "I think she sufficiently ruined me for anyone else."_

 _Marian chuckles bitterly, because it's different. But still, she says, "Please don't let me be the only sob story, tell me about it."_

 _He's suddenly angry, and she's urging him to speak his mind, so he does. He rants about how she stole his heart, broke it into pieces and doesn't even to seem to care that he's cracked and bleeding on the pavement, that he hates her (he doesn't, he loves her) for doing this to him after ten years, and he's mad, so mad, mad that he has to move on when moving on seems downright impossible._

 _He's spewed out a right nice rant, and the confession somehow lightens him, makes himself feel as if a weight has lifted, now that he has someone to share the load of these painful bitter feelings of resentment._

" _I don't want to feel like this anymore," she breathes, looking in his eyes._

" _Me either," he admits._

 _Marian nods. "I…" she strokes his cheek, and he thinks it's a comforting gesture, just a tender, soothing moment between friends. And maybe it was, but then the countdown starts._

 _Their eyes lock. There's a countdown in the background and he imagines it being a countdown until a bomb explodes, until the world as he knows it ends, until he destroys himself._

 _10... 9…_

 _That hand on his cheek caresses gently, her thumb making slow, purposeful strokes. She looks into his eyes, determined. He doesn't look away. He should look away._

 _... 8... 7…_

 _Her free hand loops around his waist clumsily, and she shuffles close to him on unsteady feet, high heels not quite helping the situation._

 _... 6… 5…_

 _He inches closer in instinct to correct her staggering. A hand anchors itself on her hip, and his head dips down towards hers when she pulls him closer._

 _... 4... 3…_

 _Marian wets her lips and his eyes are instantly drawn to them. She's pretty enough, Marian is. No, she's more than that. Gorgeous, not what he craves, but that's a problem. If he can't be with someone like Marian, what hope does he have to ever be with anyone again?_

 _... 2…_

 _He tightens the hand on her hip, drawing her closer. He feels her soft breath on his neck, she's right there, below him, he just needs to swoop in, and..._

 _... 1!_

 _Amongst the symphony of noise makers and screams, amongst the hurricane of confetti and fallen balloons, in the sea of crowded drunken people, Robin shares his first kiss in a decade with a woman who isn't Regina._

 _It's awful, and the fact that it's so terrible angers him. He wants Regina and he can't have her, and now he's destined to feel like this? No, fuck this, it can be good, he can pour his heartbreak and pain into a winning concoction, something good will come from this, it will._

 _He and Marian keep kissing. It isn't romantic. It's predatory, she's attacking him, looks about as frustrated and angry as he feels._

" _Your place?" she asks._

It's a blur after that. They keep trying to kiss, to make a spark, and it's all wrong. They make out in front of his apartment, too fiercely, they knock teeth, tongues dart oddly against one another, it's sloppy and awkward and he should have stopped.

Fuck, why didn't he stop?

 _She's naked against him, apparently he was too drunk to see her removing her clothes at all. She hasn't given him much time to get situated, and here she is, grabbing his cock and taking a condom out of her little clutch, when that dress of hers is still on. He's trying to get and stay hard, but there's so much alcohol and he's distracted by heartbreak. But he won't let her down, he won't, he is gonna try._

" _Take that dress off, gorgeous" he directs, sparing himself a few minutes._

 _She does, he tries to focus on her curves, her beautiful body, he tries._

 _It works well enough, she's on him and it's feels good. It's a good feeling, being inside her, in a physical sense, but it's also wrong, feels like being desperately thirsty for cold water only to be handed a cup of molasses instead. It's not working. And his mind is so conflicted._

 _If he shuts his eyes he can make everything better._

 _So he does. She's on top, moving her body up and down, her face melds into Regina's and suddenly fucking is easy and natural as ever. Even Marian notices the change, she no longer sounds frustrated and annoyed, little "oohs" and "ahhs" indicate she's enjoying this a bit._

 _But in his mind it's Regina who is screaming for him, and he responds with grunts and moans, telling her how beautiful she is, how much he wants her, and he's gonna come_. _She tells him to wait, orders him strongly, and she's shifting frantically on top of him, desperately trying to find a release, but she won't, he thinks, she's too anxious, too impatient._

 _He shuts his eyes tighter and blocks out her hurried jerking movements and focuses on the fantasy in his mind, on what he needs to give her this._

 _But it works too well, and before he knows it he passes the point of no return._

" _Fuck, Regina, darling, you feel so good, so fucking good, fucking Christ, so beautiful, so perfect... I'm gonna, I'm gonna, oh godddd Regina…_ "

 _He is mid orgasm when he realizes that he actually said that aloud, and it's sobering. His eyes open wide, and Marian is still moving on top of him, looking entirely unconcerned with his words._

" _Marian, I —"_

" _It's fine," she sighs, flipping off of him naked, "I just wanted to… I wanted to feel..."_

 _He grimaced, because he's failed her in two ways, by imagining her as someone else and failing to get her off. He could try more, now. But frankly the thought of going down on her with the room spinning and his own self-loathing contributing to the nausea already sloshing in his stomach seems like a miserable idea._

" _I'm sorry…" he says, rubbing his hand over his head, "So, so sorry, Marian."_

" _It's not your fault," she mutters, settling down next to him, her voice slurred and sleepy. "Too drunk. It wouldn't have happened…" she drifts off, and she's laying on her stomach, her face turned from him. He thinks she has fallen asleep for a second and then she adds in a sleepy, singsong voice, "You said her name but it doesn't matter. It's ok, Robin…"_

 _He presses a kiss to the back of her head and murmurs another apology._

 _And that is the last memory he has of the night._

He's laying awkwardly next to her, trying to get sleep, to just escape from this moment. But it's horrifying, he's awake and anxious. When Marian stirs, and moans, he's almost relieved. He just wants this over with.

She turns and wakes, eyes bleary and squinting. She sees him, registers his face, and then slaps a hand over her eyes and moans.

Robin agrees with the sentiment.

"Happy 2016," he says wryly, because what else can he say?

"God…" Marian says, and then again when she must remember something, "Oh fuck, I'm so sorry, Robin."

What?

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Marian, this was all me. I just…" he gives himself a moment, his stomach squirming and protesting. Shit, he might puke. "Sorry, it's no excuse, but the alcohol- god, did you have too much, did I—"

He doesn't want to even think about it, the fact the might have taken her without her consent terrifies him, and it's enough to have him swearing off drinking forever and driving to an electroshock therapy session because he'll be damned if he's his father in any way, but particularly, he won't be like him in _this_ way.

"You didn't take advantage of me, I took advantage of you," Marian says, her voice groggy. "Trust me."

"I don't feel taken advantage of," he insists.

"I could tell you didn't want this," she mutters under her breath, adjusting the sheet on top of her, holding onto it for dear life, "I could tell, and I stopped caring. I just wanted to feel something... _not_ _him,_ and I dragged you into this, god, I'm so sorry Robin."

"Nothing to apologize for," he says again, because despite her words, he won't have her thinking she did anything wrong, this was _his_ choice and _his_ fault. "And if you used me for that, well, I used you too, and…"

"Don't feel sorry about that," Marian mutters. He knows she's speaking of the words he said, of the fact he thought of Regina during the sex. But somehow her waving it off doesn't help to make him feel any less guilty.

"You didn't deserve this. I'm a better man than this," Robin says sternly. In his heart he feels it, that this was an awful mistake and very uncharacteristic of him. He needs her to believe it.

"Can we pretend it never happened?" Marian asks. "It's just a bad moment for both of us, and it's... embarrassing for me. Can you promise me- look at me! Can you promise me to never, ever tell anyone about this?"

She's pleading, those soulful eyes staring into his heart.

He promises.

And after that's out of the way, it's actually not a terrible morning. He leaves the room to let her change per her request, lending her some sweats, socks and a pair of trainers that belonged to a girl Killian used to see. It spares her from wearing last night's dress and heels and looking like the very essence of a walk of shame, which helps him pretend that it never happened in the first place.

They share breakfast in the apartment while Marian opens up about Keith, and how she doesn't have a family to rely on, and feels very lonely. Robin will be damned if he's just another man in her life like her father or her soon-to-be-ex husband that will just hurt her and add to her stress, so he vows he will make this nightmare into something positive. He will be there for her to support and help her through this stage of her life. They speak about seeing a support group. She wants to go, but she's a bit scared, has never been great with new people at first. He mentions he's in the middle of a divorce and will fit right in, and they should go together. She says she likes that idea.

And then she leaves the apartment and Robin is left with nothing but his miserable thoughts.

He's not a crier. Not at all. But he's too nauseous to go running, or down to the gym and hit the heavy weight, and all that emotion is crippling his ability to think.

So there, that morning, he punches into his pillow, screams, and cries. Cries over how stupid he is, how much he misses his wife, how it's probably really over now. Even if he can win Regina back, even if he waits for her to come back tomorrow from Boston like she's supposed to, even if he grovels and begs and promises to send Roland to whatever school she desires and move to whatever neighborhood she'd like (god, he would do it, he doesn't fucking care, none of that really matters as long as she's in his arms), he'd have to tell her about _this_ , about the fact that he was with someone else. And not just any someone. An ex-girlfriend. And Regina won't forgive him for this.

It's over.

.::.

"I told her I loved her."

Emma is staring across the cafe from him, eyes skeptical and narrow. She's pissed, and blaming him, and he has no idea why. It's been a few days since the misery of New Year's, and since, for some reason, things between Regina and he had been worse instead of better.

Emma must know that, too, because she's very bluntly just asked him what he did to her. And well, the only thing he can think of is the fact he loved her.

"When?" Emma asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Christmas Eve." He pulls out his phone and opens his texts with Regina. He doesn't care, there's nothing sensitive, just some half-hearted flattering words he's sent in her direction, pictures of their son, little stories of things the other would appreciate pertaining to Roland, and the occasional warnings about possible bugs or rashes or bad mood swings. Nothing worth hiding.

"This doesn't make sense," Emma responds, scrolling through the texts, "she said she loved you, too. And then she was all…."

"Yes, she seemed a bit more upbeat. I guess it was just the holidays." He thinks of the generous pictures she had sent between Christmas and New Years, the way she let him know about their days, how she mentioned she had a present for _him_ , and then... well…

On January 2nd, he'd called in hopes of seeing Roland right away. He had never gone this long without seeing him, and he didn't want to wait until tomorrow's daycare to see him. She wouldn't answer the phone, and finally he broke back down to using texts.

In the end she had agreed, saying she was going to drop Roland off at Mary Margaret's and Robin could see him there. Robin offered to go by the house, but she wouldn't agree.

Her texts had turned cold, and she was evasive of every attempt he made to communicate with her. It had been... infuriating. He thought they were making progress.

"Whatever you did, it's not in these texts," Emma groans, "So what stupid things did you say on the phone lately?"

"Nothing, she won't even let me talk to her!" he insists, "And why is it my fault? Maybe she's just doing this because she bloody hates me, ever thought of that?"

"No," Emma responds bluntly. "She's hurt, I can tell. Plus she said she's sure you don't love her in that way anymore. I disagreed, and she just stared daggers into my skull. Something happened, and she won't tell me what."

He shrugs. He has no idea what got into her, but she's been horrible for the past two weeks. "You told me she'd find her way to me if I told her. She has no interest in me. She doesn't love me anymore, Emma. That's it."

She shakes her head, murmuring, "This doesn't make sense".

"Yeah, well…" he says bitterly, "I guess you don't know her as well as you think you do."

"Something happened in the last week. She was... a lot more receptive before she got back. I told her to call me when she got in from Boston. She did on Saturday and she was like... a different person. Refused to say what you did, but when I suggested she owed you a real conversation, she nearly bit my head off. Something had to happen."

It occurs to Robin there's a chance she could have heard about Marian, Regina has few friends, and it's unlikely she would have heard anything unless she saw something herself. Plus he's talked to Marian, and she confirmed that nobody she knew caught word of their little fling, and she told no one. So there's no way Regina could have known. Unless she was at that Singles Party on New Year's Eve.

"She got in on Saturday?" Robin asks. Saturday was January 2, all but ensuring that she didn't witness to the absolute mess that was New Year's Eve.

"Yep," Emma confirms, "Why are you asking?"

Robin shrugs. "I'm just trying to make sense of this. But the only thing that makes sense is that she doesn't love me."

He's not even angry at her anymore, he's not in denial of what this is, there's no room for any other emotion but pure misery. He looks at his sister in earnest and says. "It's really over, Emma. She doesn't want to even try to fix this."

And Emma can say nothing, can offer no words of encouragement or disagreement. Instead, she uncharacteristically pulls him into tight hug and tells him that it will be okay.

He'll get through this.

As awful as it seems.

.::.

She starts taking his calls on Martin Luther King Day. She's cold, and reserved, but they decide to split the day since they both have it off. And Regina had Roland for the weekend before, so she agrees to drop him off at Robin's around 2 P.M.

"I think we need to see a mediator, or a counselor," he says, the second she walks in the door.

"I don't."

"Regina…"

"Robin, not in front of Roland." The boy had run to the TV to watch Yo Yo Gabba, but he was still within earshot, and Robin knew she wouldn't stand for it.

"There's never any time when we're _not_ in front of Roland! I need to talk to you, please."

She nods, then, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "About what?"

He looks at her, confused. "About us. We are married, Regina, don't we owe it to ourselves and our son to talk about this?"

"We're not in love anymore," she responds. He swears her voice wavers slightly as she says it, he swears it does. "There's no fixing that."

"You don't love me anymore?" He asks, grabbing her hand. "Truly?"

She stares back at him for a few beats before drawing her hand away. "I think I don't know you as well as I thought I did," she says just above a whisper. "I thought we were going to be honest with each other, if I can't have anything else, I _need_ to be able to trust you, Robin, and—"

"I'm being entirely honest with you."

"If you were, you'd call this what it is. Look, if you want to get back together for Roland's sake, I'm going to tell you, it won't work. We'll end up delaying the misery a bit, and will end up more bitter and resentful of one another. My parents never divorced, and god, how I wish they did. I don't want Roland subjected to an unhappy home like I was."

"But maybe we can work past it, and—"

"No, we can't." Regina says, sounding exhausted, eyes filled with tears, "I'm going to look into an attorney to facilitate this divorce process. I gotta go, Robin. Do me a favor and let me speak to Roland before he goes to bed. Goodnight."

In some ways, it's better after that, and in some ways it's worse. She takes his phone calls, though she shuts down the second Robin suggests they speak about counselling or reconciling. She calls after meeting with a divorce attorney, and tells Robin about the one year rule.

"If we didn't have Roland, they'd actually let us get a divorce right away," she explains, "but the rule that passed last year still makes you wait a year when minor children are involved." She puffs out an exasperated sigh, frustrated with the process. "So I guess we just have to wait."

He's grateful for the rule. It's granted him some time, at least, time to win her back and get her to stop.

Sometimes he thinks he's made headway. Some nights, after Roland is in bed, he will text her and thank her for being a wonderful mother. And she'll respond in kind, telling him he's a wonderful father. Sometimes she'll let him into some mundane detail, tell him she's picking up more berries at the store since Roland blew through them.

One day she asks to switch weekends so she can go to Ruby's bachelorette. He agrees, and they trade light jokes about bachelorette parties that make him smile. It's almost as if the old Regina is back. That night, while she's out, he takes a chance and texts her some cute thing that Roland said, and Regina responds _playfully._ Then she tells him what she's wearing, and he knows she's probably only so bold because she's been drinking, but he tells her how much he loved that dress and the night she wore it and came back to _him_.

She doesn't answer. And the next day when he asks how she's feeling all she responds with is _Fine. I'm sorry if I said anything inappropriate last night._

When he assures her she has not, and that he loves hearing from her, she thanks him for being understanding, and he thinks he has a shot to get her back.

But Regina never weakens on her stance that a divorce is necessary.

The behavior confuses him, and Robin asks his sisters if Regina found someone, if that's the reason for her refusal to work on things. But Emma is absolutely emphatic that she's found no one, and there's no way she could keep that from Emma.

He feels lost.

He attends that damned support group with Marian. He doesn't particularly want to go, but she urged him, and he feels obligated to go through this with her, especially after what happened on New Year's Eve. So he shows up. For the first few months, he counts the minutes til the meeting is over and leaves, never saying a word.

But then his heartache seems too miserable to keep to himself. And he doesn't want to talk to his sisters about Regina, he hasn't wanted to since the moment he woke up with Marian and realized he had let his anger and temper ruin the best thing he ever had. He's not angry at her anymore (only at himself), and he knows Regina needs Emma and Mary Margaret more than he does (and more than he deserves anyway).

So two months into meetings, he starts talking about his grief, about his loss, and about the wife he loves so much.

He hates to admit it, but the support group helps. Most people in the group are like Marian, trying to extricate themselves from a toxic relationship. But one other woman, a blonde who goes by Connie, she and Robin, well, they are trying to get over what they thought was a perfect relationship. A relationship that never hurt either one of them, that only helped them.

"He fell in love with someone else," Connie admits to the group. "He cried when he told me. Said he didn't mean for it to happen. He's not even sure if she feels the same way, but he wants to pursue something with her, and he can't be untrue to me if he has feelings for her." She scowls. "I want to hate him, but he did everything right, he was honest, he was open, he was remorseful…"

"He probably was already fucking her," a bitter divorcee quips, "don't believe him. He's a pig."

"He's not." Connie says, eyes glaring at the woman. "He just changed the way he felt. He just stopped loving me. It happens every day."

Robin shares then, shares his story of Regina for the first time since his anger truly left. It's freeing, being able to talk about their fight, unashamedly admitting how stupid he was, and how it escalated.

"She just stopped loving me," he says, turning to Connie. "It does happen every day."

So it helps to talk to the group, and to talk to Marian. And he realizes things about himself. He has a temper. He's stubborn. He's proud. These are things he needs to work on. Things he needs to change. He's broken from a bad childhood, and though he hides it, he's got a deep-seated fear of becoming his father.

He wishes he realized all of this sooner, when he actually could have saved his marriage.

The one thing the group is supposed to do that doesn't work on him is attempting to disenchant him on Regina. They can point out her flaws and mistakes, and it's as if they are listing every reason he loves her.

He's never going to get over her.

Killian offers to get him laid. John offers stiff drinks and concert tickets. Nothing seems to help him stop hurting, except his son.

And that's something. Throughout these miserable months, the two of them have managed to keep the boy happy. Hell, they've finished potty training him completely despite the separation. Roland's blissfully unaware of his father's pain, and too young to understand why his father and mother do not live together.

For all the wrong they've done to one another, at least they did something right with Roland.

.::.

Regina calls him on a warm afternoon on the last week of May.

"I'm just reminding you that Mrs. Lucas is going on her vacation the week of the Fourth of July," she says, "I uh, I was able to get our deposit back on the beach house we were looking at for that week. So Roland has no daycare. What do you want to do with him that week?" Regina asks tentatively. It's clear she has a plan, but is afraid to say it.

"I already took the week off work," Robin says quickly, "I'd be happy to take him. I feel like I barely get to see him."

"I took the week off, too," Regina sighs, "and I was thinking the same thing."

"We could split the week?" Robin asks, "I mean, we already split the week, but this time, no daycare. I'll take him for Monday Tuesday and Wednesday morning, you take him Wednesday afternoon through Friday?"

"I kind of wanted him for the Fourth of July. You know, to see the fireworks. And we're close enough to downtown. I know it gets crazy there, but I was thinking he's old enough to be there for just a little while, don't you think?"

"Yes," Robin says, and then he presses his luck, "but he can be a handful. And who knows how he'll react to fireworks this year. Maybe we could make this a joint activity?" there's an awkward pause and he adds "That way neither of us would have to miss out on the fun."

And frankly, Independence Day should be Robin's holiday with Roland, so he's being generous. She had Christmas, for fuck's sake. They split Easter, but she ended up having him on Memorial Day for the whole long weekend, Robin is surely due Roland on the Fourth.

"That sounds… fun," she gives.

It doesn't sound fun, it sounds awkward, and frankly, a little terrifying. As ridiculous as it is, he hasn't seen her since Easter, and that was only for about a half hour. Now he suddenly has an entire day with her.

For the next month, he alternates between fear and anticipation at the thought of spending a whole day as a makeshift family.

.::.

"Come on, Roland. We are going to meet momma soon. You have to get dressed. You like this shirt, remember?"

Roland is now a picky three and a half year old who, on some days, has an opinion on everything. Today he has decided he very much wants to be naked.

It takes convincing, but some superhero underwear does the trick, a pair of dark blue cotton shorts, and a white tee shirt with a flag printed on it. He puts sandals on his feet (it's not as god awful hot as it can be on the fourth - in fact, it's overcast and looks like it may very well rain- but it's still muggy and miserable out) and they head out. It's a bit later than he would have liked.

"Momma is going to spend the day with us!" Roland exclaims excitedly. "All of us together!"

"Yes," Robin says, ignoring the punch to his gut at hearing how excited Roland is over the simple act of being together as a family.

There's a knock at the door then, when he goes to answer it, his mouth goes dry. It's his wife, wearing bright red lipstick and a beautiful red sundress with a thin white belt, dark blue heeled sandals finishing the patriotic outfit. Everytime he sees her, it's like rediscovering how beautiful she is all over again, wind knocked out him, unable to think about anything else.

She's saying something now at the other end of the door, sounds a bit frantic, and he realizes he better damn well pay attention.

"...and of course Metro is jam packed," she puffs, "trains and buses. I thought since it may rain… what?"

"What?" he asks, perplexed.

"You haven't even invited me in yet, for one, and secondly, why are you looking at me that way?"

It's been so long she doesn't even recognize what he looks like when he's devouring her with his eyes. Knowing that should be a relief, it'd make everything awkward, but for some reason, it's another stab to the heart.

"Sorry, come in," he breathes, "Roland had a bit of a morning, I think he tired me out."

She eyes him skeptically now, and it must dawn on her, where she's seen his look before, because her face changes to one of recognition, and she raises an eyebrow and nods suspiciously. "Blaming Roland, I see…"

"I can't very well blame the designer of your dress. I've no idea who it is." he counters with a wink.

She flushes, he doesn't miss how pleased she looks at the confession. "Let's get Roland and go, then."

.::.

Independence Day is magic. They opt for the Georgetown park, and it's crowded as every other location is this Independence Day, but there's a fountain for Roland to run through, and a place for them to have a picnic and see the fireworks.

It's heaven. Because for months he's missed Regina desperately. He's seen flashes of her, spoken to her semi-regularly, but not about anything serious.

And for the day he has her and Roland together. And they are getting on quite well, all things considered. Roland is running through the fountain in the park, and he and Regina are sharing a blanket while they watch him.

They are both touchy-feely people, always have been, so maybe it's muscle memory, being so close in a park where they've spent time just relaxing and people watching. He's not sure who starts it, but he becomes conscious of her hand on his thigh, rubbing gently as they trade early memories of their son. The are eating sandwiches with crusty baguettes, and she's rubbing stray crumbs out of the scruff of his beard, smiling brightly as she does, and Christ, she's beautiful. So bloody beautiful, did he tell her that enough?

Over the years he had become used to seeing her so much that he took it for granted. But now he's been robbed of her face for so long - especially of her smile. Even when they see each other, she doesn't smile anymore, barely looks at him. But god, she's looking at him today the exact way she used to before this damn nightmare, and fuck, nothing on earth compares to the feeling of having her look at him with love in her eyes. And it is what she is doing now, he knows it.

She leans back on her elbows so she's nearly lying down, propped up in a way that must twinge her neck. She groans a bit when she moves her head forward, and then sits back up, rubbing her neck tenderly.

"Bad idea," she smiles sheepishly. "I did something to my neck."

Shit. He wonders how bad it is. Regina's pain tolerance has always been absurdly high, for her to complain about anything at all...

"You okay?"

He must look as worried as he feels, because she raises her eyebrows at him adoringly.

She laughs at his concern, shaking her head slowly and putting a reassuring hand on his thigh. "Nothing serious, Robin. I was just moving furniture, then I did some grocery shopping and had to carry everything for a few blocks and—"

He frowns. "Someone blocked the exit to our driveway again?"

She smiles sweetly before shaking her head. "Yes, sorry I wasn't _trying_ to bring it up, I just—"

"No, I know you weren't." He assures. God, she's being so sweet about this. He wants to kiss every inch of her between murmured apologies and tell her he will move to fucking Mars if he gets to keep her.

"Has this become a more regular thing, double parking like this? Do I need to maybe… get some cones? Make it more obvious? Paint the curb?"

Regina snorts and shakes her head. She squeezes his hand. "It's okay, it is the first time it's happened since Thanksgiving."

There's a lump in this throat as he finally says the words he's tried not to say. "I'm sorry for that day, Regina, I really am. It got away from me and…"

Her demeanor shifts, and it's like she closes up and shuts down, body tilting ever so much apart from him. "I don't want to talk about it," she breathes, "can we just... Roland is here, and—"

"I'm not trying to pick a fight I'm trying to apologize!" he defends, because he's not breaking her rule about fighting near Roland, he truly isn't.

"I know. It's just that it could get... tense." And it's then that he realizes how truly _hurt_ she is. Or maybe she's still _angry?_

He can't read her, which is so unusual for him, they usually fit together so well. She is rubbing her neck with one hand, her eyes closed while her other hand is still on his thigh (and that's good, very good, he hasn't lost her entirely).

He looks at her, searching for a way to offer her some comfort, to tell her how he feels without making her nervous. "Are you going to let me rub that out?" he asks, before thinking of how it sounds.

It works, the unintended innuendo, makes her giggle and and look at him in that mischievous way as she gives his thigh a playful squeeze.

"Your neck, I mean," he says with a laugh, before adding a drawn out, "Although…."

She snorts again shaking her head, then frowns. "I…" she looks at him for a second and then smiles broadly. "Actually that sounds amazing, if you don't mind."

He gives her that side eyed look that says _Don't be ridiculous_.

"I will never mind this," he promises, touching her neck and soothing it a bit before urging her to move closer to him. He tries to say it dismissively, but there's meaning behind it, and he feels her tense a little. So then he adds, "I like rubbing your neck and back. I've got restless hands, they like to have something to do."

She sighs and nods, before moving closer to him, pressing her hip against his thigh and leaning forward, presenting herself to him.

Well, fuck. The dress has a low back, and it's a lot of skin. It's hot as all get out and her skin is glowing with what may be called sweat if it were someone else, but on her it is like a glistening dew, somehow makes her look _more_ fresh and beautiful. And he wants to fuck her from behind. Right here, right like this, in the middle of this park.

Then his son squeals from the play fountain and he remembers that no, that's not on the menu.

"Mmm, god right there." She groans, it's throaty and a bit indulgent and _fuck_.

He works on the kinks of her neck and tries not to get too aroused at the way she moans and shivers under his touch. It's difficult, but it is a family event, so he manages to keep his thoughts from wandering when he hears those heady moans, takes in the sweet smell of perfume and deodorant and _Regina_ , touches the smooth, soft, slightly damp skin.

"That's so much better, thank you," she says in that breathy little sigh.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and she tilts her head against his hand as she used to. It's wonderful, having her close like this, being able to touch her like this. The rest of the world seems to melt away, all their problems, all that distance, everyone else in the bloody world. It's just them now, in this moment, his beautiful wife and his perfect son.

He runs fingers down and up her back lightly, the way she likes after a good back rub, and then pulls back her hair and presses a kiss into that spot where the back of her neck meets the middle of her back before soothing a fingertip over it and giving her a final soft pat.

It's a ritual, one not so easily forgotten. By either of them, it appears. She turns gingerly to face him, eyes hooded, looking pleasured in a serene sort of way. His eyes drop to her breasts (what else is new?) and... there is the cleavage, of course, which is nice enough on its own, but the hardened, stiff peaks, visible through the cotton of her dress draw him in.

He knows her body well enough to know what _that_ means. His mouth goes dry, breathing goes a bit heavy, and he tries to tear his eyes away, he really does….

But she's turned on, probably wet and needy between her thighs, and it's been so long, yet he can still feel her tangy wetness…

Regina's tongue peeks out to wet her lips, and his eyes follow the motion. That seems to startle her, has her eyes going wide with recognition as to what _this_ is. He thinks back on the moment, wondering what action in particular went too far, and then he remembers the little kiss on her back.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. And then, "Old habits…"

She shakes her head with a smile, "Yeah, I know the feeling. Me too."

And then she's nervously adjusting herself, smoothing back hair and scooting away so she's shoulder to shoulder with him.

She grabs a package of strawberries, and shoves a pre-cut piece to his lips. It's a quick action, out of nowhere, and seems… forced. A bit of a nervous movement. But he opens his mouth to accept the piece of fruit anyway. He licks the tip of her thumb (not on purpose, but he'd be lying if he tried too terribly hard to prevent this), and takes the entire piece in his mouth, smiling when the tart, sweet goodness explodes on his tongue. He chews and smiles at her, amused at the action.

"Thank you."

"Mhm, I was just trying to shut you up before you said something you regretted."

It's a joke though, he can see it in that little sparkle in her eye, that little half smile she tries to hide.

Roland squeals and runs towards them both, collapsing his soaked body between them.

"Roland, be careful, you're getting your mum wet."

But Roland is in a relatively bratty stage, so he only smiles devilishly and throws his arms around his mother.

"Hey!" Regina screams. She pretends to be offended but she can't really pull it off. Can never pull it off when their son is clinging to her.

When Roland pulls away her dress is decorated with a damp, wet splotch.

"Ugh, it's fine. I needed to cool off anyway," Regina mutters as she grabs Roland a towel.

Robin nearly chokes on his fruit.

The rest of the day goes just perfectly. The food keeps well, and Roland is treated to far too many sweets, but the picnic is still a success. Robin has smuggled in some alcohol that they discreetly share, just a bit of sparkling wine with two plastic flutes he managed to place into the picnic basket. Regina, to his surprise, takes the risk and pours quickly, before hiding the open bottle underneath a spare blanket.

By the time the fireworks have ended, Roland is passed out on both of them, his head on Robin's thigh, feet dangling off Regina's lap. It looks like the most uncomfortable position ever, but Roland has a habit of being a bit of a contortionist in his sleep anyway.

"You should take him for the night," she whispers, "it'll be easier."

"You can spend the night too!" he offers quickly. "It's...I don't want you walking home by yourself tonight."

"No I'll be fine, I don't have a change of clothes and I am not really sure who has been on that couch of Killian's. Plus... you know, no sleeping under the same roof." She scrunches her face up in this adorable pensive snarl and then adds "but... maybe… um, would it be… do you think we could have dinner tomorrow?"

Robin smiles broadly and nods immediately.

"If you're not busy," she says quickly, "I wouldn't want to impose, it's just, Roland seemed excited that we were both around, and well, we both have to eat, and—"

"I really, really, really, want to have dinner with you, Regina." He pours as much emotion as he can into the words, because she has no idea how badly he wants to have dinner with her now until forever.

"I feel like I don't get to see him, you know? With work and splitting custody, the idea of seeing him everyday for a week... it's…"

 _Every day this week._

"We both have off. Every day. We can see him every day. I'll let you come over and have dinner with me, if you let me do the same when it's your turn."

She frowns and looks skeptical. "Is that a good idea?"

"Why not? We're raising a child together, a week's worth of meals isn't inappropriate, wouldn't you say? And I really want to spend time with you, Regina. I miss you, you know."

"You don't have dinner plans this week?"

He eyes her suspiciously. What dinner plans would he even have? What on god's green earth would be more important than having dinner with _her?_

"I mean Killian and I usually split a pizza and a sixpack on Wednesdays but…"

She rolls her eyes and stiffens, face screwing into a scowl. Something is wrong. And then he wonders if she has plans of her own

"Are you— do _you_ have plans this week?" he asks, trying desperately not to sound accusatory or heartbroken, despite feeling both.

"Not-not exactly," she says, and something in him cracks in two. He knows what that means.

She's with someone.

"Well, I mean if you have plans, we can—-"

"No, no, that's not what I meant." She huffs out a frustrated breath of air. "Forget it."

"Alright," he says softly, reaching for her hand. She tenses, but doesn't pull away. Good. He doesn't want to fight. Not today. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I just— I have the week off, and I want to see Roland as much as possible, and maybe I pushed too hard, but—"

"No, no I'm sorry," she says, squeezing his hand back. "I don't know how to do this, with you."

It guts him, hearing her sound so uncomfortable around him. He hates this, hates what his life has become. The woman he loves more than anything can't even be around him. And yet…

"We did alright today," he notes, "until just now…"

Her face brightens and she gives him one of those sparkling smiles that takes his breath away. "Today was great." She pauses and then adds, "Maybe because we didn't talk about anything… 'us' related? Maybe, we can spend time together this week without any discussion of... that? I don't want to fight about counselors or divorce or new people in our lives, I just want a week where we just...are. You know?"

He nods. There's a lump in his throat, one he can't quite swallow down. She's asking for him to give him a stress free week where he doesn't beg her to let him come home with him. And he's desperate to ask her to do exactly that, to let him move back in and spend his life kissing her ass, her feet, anywhere she'd let him.

But she never lets him finish, she always runs away.

Maybe a week of no pressure, no serious conversation, just _them_ will help her.

Maybe this is what she needs.

"I can do that," he assures, "just casual upbeat conversation. I promise."

"Okay," she smiles back. "Let's get this one home."

"Oh, are you sure you're okay with me taking him? I know—"

"You keep him for the night, I'm sure. I'll help you tuck him in."

.::.

Waking Roland from a sugar-induced coma on a crowded day is never fun. He whines and protests as they put him in his stroller (thank god they brought it, he's 3 ½, but lord is it ever easier to strap him in than try to walk with a toddler).

It's times like these where they get along best, Robin thinks. They co-parent well. Divide themselves between tasks to get Roland ready and keep him occupied while the other packs everything together. They are very in sync. They've always been, but it's nice to know they haven't lost it.

"Bus or walk?" Robin asks. It's about a mile, not too long. There's a bus, but today is so god awful crowded that walking would probably be faster. He looks down to her feet, and she's wearing heels. Probably has those foldable flats in her purse, but still... walking is her call.

Then he thinks about her choice of shoes, and that tantalizing dress. Did she wear those for him? If not him, who else? She could have worn practical flip flops and a less… unbelievably sexy outfit, but…

"Let's walk, my feet are fine," she says, with a smug smile that says _I can read your mind_. But she can't, not truly, or she'd be smacking him right now.

.::.

They arrive at Killian's apartment, and she stays for bath and bedtime. It's a nice ritual, one he's sorely missed. Regina seems pleased that Robin has bought all the identical toiletries that Roland has back home, and has done his best to buy similar bath toys. Roland is overtired, smelly and filthy, but it somehow makes him even cuter. He's sleep-drunk and giggly, splashing both of them as he enjoys the suds of the bath, gabbing about god knows what, blowing bubbles at his parents.

Regina coaxes their son out of the tub, and then a slippery, sneaky, Roland manages to sidestep the open towel waiting for him, and lunges his naked, soaked body around her, grabbing her in a tight hug.

Regina shrieks, completely not expecting the action, as Roland laughs louder than he ever has before. Where does he learn this stuff? It's cute, a clear repeat of his earlier trick at the fountain, and they should have seen it coming, but...

"Roland!" Robin scolds, "That's not nice. You got mommy's clothes all wet."

Regina is usually the disciplinarian, and he expects her to have words with him, but instead she's stifling a laugh over Roland's shoulder, arms wrapped around him tight.

"Roland, baby, you can't do that. It's not nice." Regina attempts to keep her voice stern, but it doesn't quite come out that way. Roland giggles in response, but manages a _Sorry, mommy!_

She grits her teeth and looks back and Robin with a smile that disarms him. Hmm.

And then she wraps Roland in his hooded panda towel and and takes him to the bedroom.

.::.

They read _Where The Wild Things Are_ , and it's sweet — intimate and domestic, tucking in their son and taking turns reading, while Robin wraps a towel around Regina's wet body. She sits on his lap so as not to get the bed wet (her dress is soaked from Roland, he can't imagine it is comfortable for her, because of course, it's not particularly comfortable for _him,_ as her wet dress soaks the jeans that cover his lap, but he won't ever protest her on him, not ever).

When the book is over (too soon, everything tonight is over too soon), they kiss him goodnight and leave the room, trading smiles as they go.

She walks back into the bathroom, looking at herself in the full length mirror. Her dress is still soaked, dark, deep maroon splotches covering a vast portion of the bright red fabric.

"Well, my trip home should be pleasant," she mutters, and Robin chuckles.

"Got something for ya."

He's holding a tee shirt and sweats for her. Not just any tee shirt, _her_ tee shirt. The David Bowie one, the Aladdin Sane one. She loves that shirt. He knows it was a low blow to take it with him that first night when he was packing. She used to wear it when she missed him, she'd call and tell him that, even during business trips she'd wear it to bed and snuggle into it.

And now he has an opportunity to give it back to her, without a big fuss.

She looks truly touched. She eyes the clothes for while, as if she's unsure whether or not she should accept the small offer of kindness.

Her expression softens and she takes the clothes. "Could you unzip me me?" she asks, turning to him.

He fiddles with the zipper of the dress, drawing it down slowly, revelling in every inch of flesh that's revealed.

"Thank you," she says when he reaches the bottom, right when he can see the top of the mint green lace panties she's wearing underneath. Fuck, he wants her.

She starts walking towards the bathroom, and then stops. He laughs, realizing Roland had splashed out half the tub when he left. Everything is still wet. He needs to take a mop to it.

If she goes in there she's going to get all her clothes wet.

She turns to his bedroom, and freezes.

Can't change in there. Roland has only just gone down, and she will disturb him.

She sighs and turns to him, raising an eyebrow when he cannot help but give her a knowing smirk.

"Turn around," she sighs, "I'm going to have to change in here quick. Before Killian gets home, too."

"Eh, he won't be back before 1 AM," Robin reminds her, "he's out on a boat sailing around the Potomac. You've nothing to worry about there."

""Turn around," she repeats, "I still have to worry about _you_."

But it's _flirtatious_ and cute, and so he plays along, pointing to himself in mock offense. " _Me?!_ Whatever would you have to worry about?" He pauses and then adds, "It's not like I haven't seen you naked a couple of thousand times anyway. If I turn around I'll just be picturing you naked with crystal clear accuracy, right in my head." He points to his temple for effect.

"So you're saying, either way, you're seeing me naked," Regina says, with a coy smile.

"Well, no, I assume you'll keep your underwear on in reality. But of course, in my fantasy…."

She offers him a smug little smile, and then she's peeling off that sinful dress, right in front of him. She's wearing a tiny scrap of... silk, perhaps up top, trimmed with the same color lace as her panties. It's got some floral design he doesn't care about, it looks water painted and faded but what he's drawn to is the fabric is completely see-through. And that makes it _gorgeous_ , because he can see hardened nipples through them, all dark pink and bold and on display for him.

"Fuck," he says, as she toes out of her heels.

She raises her eyebrows. "I thought you've seen me naked enough to picture me with crystal clear accuracy," she chides, as she grabs his cotton drawstring pants and steps into them.

"Mm, when I picture you naked in my head I have the same reaction," he assures, biting his lip to try to tamp down his smile. He likes how she looks now, all cute and sensual. She's putting on her clothes _slowly,_ nothing a normal person would notice, but he knows her very well, and she's drawing it out, and what's even better than seeing her exposed flesh for even longer is knowing she's drawing it out for _him._

She takes those flats out of her purse, the little rollup ones she always insisted on bringing "just in case".

"I'll, uhh, leave these here," she says, pointing at the clunky sandals. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he says, unable to stop the wide smile that rolls across his face. "See you then."

She nods, thanks him for a perfect holiday, and gives him a warm hug goodbye.

He's drunk on the emotions of the entire day, still a bit worked up after a shower and a good wank (he could say it's just to help him sleep, but the images of her, wet and in sexy lingerie, are etched in his mind, and hell, even before that, she was tempting him in the worst way). That's how starved he's been for her, one day with her and he's turned into a bloody schoolboy.

.::.

The rest of the week is a precious gift. Regina comes over, and he comes over to hers. They have dinner, bathe Roland (he needs a daily bath on summer days, as tends to put all his energy into running, rolling in the grass and dirty and whatever sprinkler her can find) and tuck him in.

And then there's the flirting. He can't talk about _them,_ she's asked him not to do that this week, but damnit, they still have chemistry.

On Tuesday she teases him for being a poor cook, but he surprises her with a more-than-edible meal. It's just seasoned chicken breasts, broccoli, and potatoes, but she _mmm-_ s and _ahh_ s and acts as if he made some culinary treasure.

"I'm impressed," she says sincerely, rubbing his arm. They are tidying up the kitchen after putting Roland to bed. It's not Regina's kitchen (it's not even _Robins,_ this is _Killian's_ for fuck's sake), but it's respectable, and he likes to keep it neat.

"I've learned a lot over these past few months," he draws, smiling at her adoringly.

And she looks gorgeous, wearing these little white shorts that he loves, that hug her ass and show off her legs. She's wearing a black tank top that scoops low enough to see the top of her tits... God he's hard up, this is just a normal everyday outfit and he is fucking awestruck.

"You look nice tonight," he cannot help but say in the middle of their banter about Mary Margaret and her latest drama (they always enjoyed teasing her, they both love her very much, though, he can tell, Regina loves her _very_ much).

Regina's cheeks pinken ever so slightly, and she drops her eyes to the floor for a second before she says, "Thank you. I... played tourist this afternoon. Took a walk around the tidal basin."

"You should have called," he urges, "we would have met you."

She shakes her head. "I just… I wanted some time to myself. To think, to just... relax." She pauses and frowns. "Is that selfish?" she fiddles with a lock of hair nervously, as if she's expecting him to agree with that silly voice inside her head.

"No, it's not selfish. You're a wonderful mother, and a great employee, and you have some time off and need time to yourself. I'm glad you got it." He smoothes a hand over her shoulder before he can think better of it. But she leans into the touch, so maybe he should stop overthinking it, after all. "This week, doing this… it was a great idea."

She nods her head, surprising the hell out of him when she wraps arms around his waist and pulls him into a hug. "I needed this week," she sighs into his chest, "and thanks for saying I'm a good mom. You are a great father. Roland's very lucky."

He hums his agreement into her hair. And he thinks he has her, at that moment, but when he asks if she'd like to watch a bit of TV with him, she shakes her head and says she has to be going home.

On Wednesday, he brings Roland over to the house - the house that is still _theirs_ but is really just _hers_ now. Things feel different, but the same. She asked if he could bring him over around 4, a bit early for a normal drop off, but this time he is _staying_ until Roland sleeps, so it's perfect. He expects to find her dressed down, soft and relaxed. He's wrong.

He knocks at his door (it feels so weird, but it's about respecting her space, after all). She answers it in a second, assuring him with a _You don't have to do that_ that has him smiling broadly.

But then he takes her in, and he's unsure what to do or say or how to act, because _fuck._

She's wearing this dress… and it's not showing any more skin than the one she wore on the Fourth of July, but god, there's a generous showing of leg, and then there's this zipper that wraps around her body, from that slit on her leg, around her back, to her waist, and it's… He wants to draw it down with his teeth, work his way between those thighs and eat at her until she screams for him.

And this is a terrible thought to have in front of your son.

"Hi, mommy!" Roland squeals, falling into his mother's arms.

She smiles and cuddles him, but her eyes are still on Robin. She looks... amused.

She knows what he's thinking.

"Come on in," she says to him, chuckling as she stands up on heeled feet, her son in her arms.

He follows her, enchanted, watching her ass the entire way from the door to the living room.

"Daddy, look, I made castle!" Roland points out the little lego table they have set up for him, where he can build whatever he wants to.

"I see that!" Robin says, prying his eyes away from his wife (still his wife, that's still true, and he's never been more glad for that) to glance at the castle.

"I'm going to make it even bigger! But don't look until I say so! I want it to be a surprise!"

"Okay," Robin says. He will have no problem focusing his eyes on _other things_ in the meantime. He turns to Regina and smiles sheepishly.

"You're staring," Regina whispers. Maybe it's meant to be a chastising comment, but she looks far too amused to come across that way.

"I'm merely following our son's orders and looking away as he completes his masterpiece," he says, lips curving into a smile that's big enough to hurt his cheeks.

She laughs and turns away, walking to the kitchen, asking _Do you want something to drink?_ He answers that he does, and follows her.

"I haven't made anything for dinner," she starts as she takes out two glasses, "I was thinking if Roland were up for it, we could catch a matinee and pick up takeout? Or we could go to the park, Roland is getting better at the jungle gym, he—"

"You look beautiful today," Robin interrupts, because he's _trying_ to listen but the dress is distracting. And her makeup is well done, lips are painted this shade of red he quite likes on her, and damn, how is he supposed to pay attention?

"Thanks... I…" she smoothes invisible wrinkles out of the skirt of her dress, "I, uh, went out to lunch with Emma and Ruby."

He thinks about asking Emma if she really saw Regina today, because she looks dressed for a date, not a lunch. But he won't involve them in it anymore. And besides, using his sister as an alibi seems unlikely. Unless she's hoping to get caught.

He doesn't get to be upset about her potentially moving on, anyway. He needs to let it go.

"Speaking of that," he says, taking a moment to eye her up and down, "you don't really seem dressed for the park. And you know, we just had a busy day outside. Went on a hike in Rock Creek park, played a little footie… maybe we can have a night in. Order some movie, get something delivered?"

"Or I could change…" she offers, but he shakes his head no a bit too vigorously.

"Don't you dare." He directs. The sternness in his voice makes her bubble into laughter, shaking her head softly.

"Alright. A night in."

.::.

It's playdoh and legos and coloring books with Roland, at first. Robin can tell he enjoys the extra attention of both parents doting over him, and he feels the deep longing again for his family. But he reminds himself they wouldn't have many days like these, anyway. Most days they'd be working, and rushing to pick him up from daycare and make a meal before bedtime. They wouldn't have time to make playdoh spaghetti, he wouldn't have time to watch Regina delicately color in a sketch of Lilo and Stitch...

Regina takes nearly everything she does seriously, and coloring is no exception. She eyes her work critically, fiddling with crayons to get the right color, blending and shading (can you even _shade_ with a crayon?)... The tip of her tongue peeks out as she eyes her work critically, and it's unspeakably adorable. And yet she finds time to compliment Roland, to let him look over her shoulder and _ooh_ and _ahh_ over her masterpiece.

"Yours is messy, daddy," Roland says, as he eyes Robin's work with a face that can only be described as _unimpressed._ Robin, of course, has been purposefully coloring sloppy, hoping to attract attention or draw out a smile from Regina, but he will settle for this, a lecture from his son.

" _Mine?_ What about your mother's?" He points at the work of art with mock disdain, "Look, she went outside the lines here!".

"I did _not,"_ Regina insists.

"Mm, right here," Robin points at an imaginary spot on the page.

"Where?" Regina looks to inspect it. "I don't see anything."

"Daddy's lying!" Roland declares, glancing at the page. "Daddy, mommy colors _pretty."_

"Mmm, indeed she does," Robin says, glancing at her artwork, and then glancing up at Regina to add, "She does _everything_ pretty."

She blushes, god damn it, she does, and it's beautiful. He can't talk about them, about anything heavy, but maybe he's making progress. Maybe _this_ is working.

They bounce off easily on one another, trading gentle jokes and subtly flirting over their son. It _is_ flirting, the way she strokes his arm when she talks, the way his hands draw circles on her back as he pretends to be deeply interested in whatever new work of art Roland has put in front of the both of them.

Then they let Roland pick the entertainment for the night. He goes with the Lego Movie (again). It's a snarky film, cute, but they've watched it so many times that Robin could probably reenact the whole thing. He and Regina trade looks as they mouth lines they have ingrained in their memories.

Robin, the mature man he is, occupies himself by flinging popcorn kernels at her from across the couch, aiming at her temples, her cheeks, her breasts. She scowls prettily as he hits her, throwing them back at him in mock offense. Roland turns and catches their antics, finds it hilarious, but reminds them of the rule against food fights (a rule they both recited him, more than once).

"Sorry Roland, your father is _very_ ill-behaved today," Regina says, raising an eyebrow at Robin.

"You should punish me," he responds before he can think better if it, eyes lustful and heated, too focused on how ungodly sexy she is to realize how... inappropriate he's being.

But before he can take the words back, Regina is smiling at him in _that_ way.

"You couldn't handle it," she says in this sexy, throaty, whispered growl that sets him on fire, has his body humming and his mind whirling with thoughts he shouldn't have, not with Roland here.

"Careful," he says, looking down at their son, who is currently sprawled out on the floor, lying on his belly, elbows propping up his head, seemingly oblivious to what they are saying, thank god.

"I'm just stating facts," she whispers back, "nothing I wouldn't say in front of Roland… maybe you should get your mind out of the gutter."

He huffs his response with a roll of his eyes, to make it clear he's not buying what she's selling. She meant that comment to sound ungodly sexy, and it worked.

And from the proud little smile on her face, she knows she's won.

.::.

They bathe Roland and put him to bed. Robin draws the bath towards the end of the movie, and insists on taking control of the whole affair since Regina is in _that_ dress. She still chats with them both from the doorway of the bathroom as Roland washes up and plays. Roland manages to splash Robin more than a few times, leaving him a bit wet, but it's nothing too terrible.

Bedtime goes without a hitch, except when they finish reading Cat and the Hat, Roland mentions he likes when they do the voices _together_ the most.

The sting that comes with wondering when or if they will get to say goodnight together again Roland stays with him until they turn out his light.

He heads down the stairs with a weary sigh, but Regina lingers. She comes down with some clothes he must have left when he moved out. An old pair of jeans and a green tee shirt he loved and actually looked for, had assumed was lost.

"If you wanted to change," she explains softly.

He laughs. "I'm fine, already drying off, but thank you for the offer.

"You could take these," she offers, but he shakes his head.

"Keep it. I may need them tomorrow or Friday."

That answer seems to make her happy, has her nodding as she turns towards the kitchen.

"Want to help me finish that bottle of wine?" she asks, pointing over to the half empty bottle from dinner.

Oh, it's less than half empty. It's less than two glasses left, she could easily finish it off herself. But she wants him to _stay._ So he nods, and takes two glasses out of the cupboard and pours for her while she makes her way to the couch and pops on the TV.

He takes her her glass of wine and places it on the coffee table, trying not to gawk at the high slit in her dress.

"So," he says, turning to her, unable to hide that cheesy grin from spreading over his face, "What are we watching?"

She shrugs her shoulders, and grabs the remote, bored. "Netflix?" she asks, "I never watched House of Cards..."

"Me either," Robin says with a smile, "And I'd love to. Queue it up. Did you hear Will may be an extra on the show? Assuming his scene didn't get cut."

"Knowing Will he probably botched the entire scene," Regina groans, fiddling with the remote until the series starts to play. "Do you remember when he made us watch that episode of The Wire, and hosted that party for it, and then they cut his scene?"

"Oh, god, that was depressing," Robin says, laughing loudly for a second, then silencing himself when he realizes he might be waking their son. "You were so good to him, though, when he was drunk and crying…"

Regina laughs lightly, crosses her legs and turns to him, with a sarcastic, "Mmm, I'm a comforting soul."

"You are," he agrees. Regina laughs as if it is a joke, but it's not. He knows she doesn't see herself as soft, or nurturing. There's too much in her childhood, too much in her past that has her seeing herself as her mother's child, cold and manipulative. She has those moments, sure, but that's not who she is. She's warm, and giving.

"Stop trying to butter me up," Regina scowls. But she's touched, he knows she is.

"I wasn't, that was before, when I was throwing popcorn at you."

She snorts and rolls her eyes. "God you're corny."

"Again, that was before, with the pop—"

She stretches out a foot to kick him playfully, and it should be cute, except she's in _that_ dress, and the action has it hiking up her thighs even more. His eyes are drawn to it, and he's staring so intently he forgets to react to her kick at all.

When he is able to tear his eyes from her legs, he meets her eyes to find her looking... curious. Not offended by his wandering eyes, but not entirely egging him on.

"You've been in heels all day, I bet you'd like a foot rub," he offers, grabbing her feet and sliding them over his lap.

She sighs a little _Thank you_ and places her feet on his lap, frowning a bit.

"Your jeans are wet. Why don't you change?"

"Trying to turn the tables and get me to strip in front of you?" Robin asks, "I see, I'm on to you."

She giggles — giggles, god damn it, and then adds a serious, "I just thought you'd be more comfortable."

Robin hums a reply. "I've lost a little weight…" he starts, "I'm not so sure those pants would fit without a belt.

She frowns a bit, eyeing him. "You do look thinner…" she says.

"I miss your cooking," he sighs, grabbing her feet in and urging them back on his lap. "And your baking." He starts to rub her feet softly.

"Thought you'd have gained weight, all that pizza and beer with Killian — _oh, that feels good_!" she groans a little, and he feels his cock twitch as he can't help but turn his gaze to her, sprawled out, arching herself into his touch. Christ, she's sexy.

He tries to focus on her words, to keep up with the conversation.

"Those pants are old, around the time Roland was born, when we ordered in all the time. And now... while we do have a pizza night, I must say there are a lack of baked goods in my life. And I'm walking more, being downtown, and unfortunately hitting the weights a bit less. I lost a little muscle, I think." He draws his thumbs over her arches lightly — too lightly. She squeals a bit and tries to draw back her feet. So sensitive, Regina is. So ticklish. She's so gorgeous when she laughs he really wants to tickle her more. But she wouldn't like that, so he holds her feet in place and switches to firmer strokes.

"You still look good anyway," she sighs, then catches herself, "I mean, you don't look sickly or anything."

He chuckles, can't help but laugh. They are so fucking awkward. He feels like a teenager with a crush he's desperately trying to conceal.

After several minutes, she pulls her feet from his lap and slides over to sit next to him on the couch. Somehow they edge closer and closer to one another until they are shoulder to shoulder. She's flirting back with him. And it's unbelievably hot, what she's wearing and how she's leaning on him.

It takes everything in his power to not make a move on her. She seems... receptive, but he can't risk being wrong. If he somehow destroys her trust and he loses the rest of his time with her… no. So he keeps his hands in check, keeps them in safe places like her arms and back, occasionally moving it to thread through her hair. She's leaning into the touch, letting out little moans and sighs that drive him wild. He's supposed to be watching House of Cards, but he has no idea what happens in any episode. He's too busy stealing glances at her, his mind too consumed with thoughts of her.

When it's time for him to leave, he does everything in his power to deflate his obvious erection, and then gets up quickly from the couch, letting her walk him to the door. She draws him into a hug while they continue to tease each other, trading gentle touches that shouldn't be as sexy as they are.

He thinks about everything when he gets home, and fantasizes about a scenario in which he was brave enough to try for more, to work his hands up her legs during that foot rub. She'd part her thighs for him, let him work his hands up, rubbing and caressing them in a way that always has her writhing and gasping. He'd work that hand up, up, until he could feel the damp fabric between her legs (it's his fantasy, and she'll be as wet as he wants her to be, thank you very much).

He'd touch her through her panties, just fingertips, but she'd open her legs wider, and arch into the touch. And then he'd grab that damned zipper, draw it down, and eat her out, right through her soaking lingerie. He'd eat her until she came just like that, then he'd rip her panties off and eat at her proper, until she begged him to stop, and—

His hand is a poor substitute for her mouth or cunt, but there's no tricking his mind into fulfilling _this_ particular craving. He wants to go down on her so badly it hurts, physically hurts. And the wanting, the desire, is so overwhelming and so frustrating he nearly has to stop himself from fantasizing altogether.

He misses her taste, her scent, the feeling of her on his tongue, the way her thighs tremble around his face when she's close, those little aftershocks after she comes that he _lives_ for, god he misses it all so god damned much.

But for his own sanity, he redirects his thoughts to fucking her, that dress still on but unzipped. Right against the wall in the hallway, hard and fast, and she'd beg for it, beg and scream and moan about how much she wanted it, _this, him_ , until she came and came around him, her cunt contracting and spasming that way they do, juices dripping all down him, and—-

He comes hard into his palm as he moans her name, the tension of the day spilling out of him. The release is powerful and satisfying. And yet… hours later, when he's in bed, thoughts go back to her, and he can't resist doing it all over again. He's like an insatiable twenty year old because of her, damnit. Her and that dress and those touches and that smile.

God he loves her.

.::.

The rest of the week fares the same.

On Thursday they take Roland to the Museum of Natural History _together,_ he meets her at a Starbucks right outside the metro, and they walk together like a family. He loves it, and because she's banned all talks about _them,_ it's quite easy to pretend the events of last year never happened.

The rest of the week always ends the same — bedtime for Roland, and more wine and House of Cards. And flirting, more flirting that has him pent up and dying for her by the time he gets home.

She is so sweet, so talkative, so receptive. It's only on Sunday when she seems to withdraw. They are at his house, Roland chit chatting about how Aunt Mary Margaret and Miss Marian are taking him on the duck tour next weekend (she cringed, he does too, it's terribly touristy and they both _hate_ it, vowed to never ride one themselves, but well, Mary Margaret is Mary Margaret, and she had gotten Roland all excited about it).

"You should come along," Robin suggests, trying to fight his amusement from showing so obviously.

Regina scoffs. "Yeah, raincheck on that."

"Oh come on, it would be delightful if we all played tourist. I'll get the comically large maps of the most historic sites if D.C., you can get the—"

"Oh so you're going?"

"Only if _you_ are," he says. She looks a bit hurt, and he feels the need to get her to shake it off. It's just the duck tours god damn it, if it's _that_ upsetting Roland doesn't have to go.

"Would you rather he not go?" he whispers to her, "I'm sorry, it was Mary Margaret's idea. She told Roland before me. We can turn her down, of course… Roland has a short memory—"

"No, no," she waves it off and puts on a wry, weak smile. "No it's fine."

He wonders if part of the awkwardness is her closeness with her sister. And it's something he's made her feel bad about in the past, so he feels the need to say, "You know, Mary Margaret is just as close to you as she is to me, and lord knows she would like to see you more."

Regina smiles thinly, and then asks timidly, "Does it bother you that I spend so much time with your sisters? Not Mary Margaret, so much, but...Emma. She's your sister, and I feel—"

"I love that you spend time with her." Robin says honestly. And maybe that was what had her tense. She does seem to deflate at his words. "She was your friend before I ever met you. She loves you." And to lighten the mood he adds, "Probably more than she loves me."

"That's not true!" Regina replies, as if she's worried about Emma's loyalty. But, no, that's not it. He's glad, truly, that Emma's loyalty lies with her. Not at first, but now, now that he has had time to get over his anger and desire to win whatever fight they ever had that started this whole thing, he thinks it's fitting.

"I'm glad you have each other," he says sincerely. "She would never have me come between you two, and I wouldn't want to. And honestly I like the idea of Roland and Henry growing up close, so I'm glad you have your connection."

She nods silently, but still doesn't make eye contact.

"I was being an asshole before," he presses on. "Right after our fight I know I seemed to act like i had some sort of ownership to Emma, but I don't. She's your sister—"

Regina tries to interrupt, no doubt to argue it's not the same thing, but it is.

"She's your sister, and best friend, and we're still a family. For at least the next fourteen-and-a-half years, right?"

"Yes, we are." She says, with a shy smily.

"I love that you are close with my sisters, Regina. And I love that they are close to you." She's staring at her lap now, instead of him, and he needs her to understand how honest he's being, so he cups her chin in his hand, and lifts it up, up, until she's looking at him. "Truly. I wouldn't have it any other way. Okay?"

She swallow heavy and whispers back her reply, a subtle little _okay thanks_ that has him smiling.

And rest of the evening picks up, and while it's not as smooth as the other nights...well, it's still pretty amazing. He chalks the awkwardness up to it being their last night in this holiday bubble, and thinks nothing more on it.

He should be sad, that last night, to wish her goodbye. But as she leaves him, he feels at peace. She still feels something for him — that is clear. And he lived up to his word and didn't speak a word about them or try to reconcile, but now the week is over, isn't it?

"Passed Regina in the hall," Killian says as he walks in the apartment. "She was here til rather late."

"Yeah," Robin acknowledges. When Killians eyebrows wobble, Robin rushes to explain. "Nothing happened. She just let us spend the rest of the weekend together and we were watching a tv show together."

"Then why do you look like you just got laid?" Killian asks as he walks to the kitchen and grabs a beer.

"Because I know what i'm going to do," Robin says with a smile. "I'm going to get her back."


End file.
